Murder, Who Cares
by manic-intent
Summary: Dark elves as private detectives in Menzoberranzan...can the world get weirder? ;p Apparently so. Product of warped humor and general insanity, along with chocolate deprivation. *Now Complete*
1. Part 1

Foreword

The following story was a consequence of reading '[The Howdunit series] Private Eyes: a writer's guide to private investigators' by Hal Blythe, Charlie Sweet and John Landreth out of curiosity, boredom, and a vague urge to write something Sherlock Holmes.Oddly (or perhaps not oddly), it became dark elf.

No, that famous sleuth and his less than bright companion would not appear in the story.

I think.

Okay, okay.This would be 'pure' Dark elf.Knowing me, Zaknafein and Jarlaxle would appear sooner or later, but hopefully they wouldn't take over the storyline.

It's quite an interesting book, and I would recommend it for those who like reading widely (ie, taking whatever book in the library that happens to catch your eye), and after it I'm going to read the Armed and Dangerous: A writer's guide to weapons, of the same series.Hopefully there would be no stories about gun-toting elves.The series is funny (The Most Important Piece of Field Equipment: A wide mouthed bottle.Reason? Surveillance.Detectives can't move from their fixed position to use the powder room), interesting, and well, if you want to write PI fiction...

As to the title - well, there are lots of 'Murder, She Wrote' or 'M for Murder' etc series out there, so I decided to have a (more or less) unique name.

Now, it's 9pm, I have a current affairs test tomorrow, and hence I won't ramble anymore.Enjoy the story.

-Anya, off to see in a while what the heck is Kashmir.

=======

[From '_Ragar Noamuth, The Memoirs', volumes of cases and reports written by Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir, House Assassin (__Qu'el'velguk) of House Ilith'vir (non-noble House family), of which it is still debatable who he seems to be 'speaking to' in occasion through the text.The volumes were unearthed in the considerably large and musty smelling Bregan D'aerthe archive chamber, and the author has to thank one Jarlaxle for allowing her to peruse the volumes.She did not destroy anything, and she is perfectly sane. She also refuses comment as to having bullied Jarlaxle into giving her permission – she points out that his exact words were "Look at whatever you want…just leave me alone!"]_

Part One

Whispers of the outside world crept guiltily in under the door and through the windows like members of a House that had just failed a raid.In my office, which lurked in a corner of the new, needlessly large indoor Circle Column market, to tell the truth, I was not paying attention.My desk was littered with more cases and notes than House Baenre was with soldiers, and more importantly, littered with an ample amount of Tylinyl Ssh'starm, the curvaceous eldest daughter of House Ssh'starm.

Theoretically, as a member of House Ilith'vir, even if I _was technically of an inferior gender, it was my duty to advance diplomatic relations, especially with larger and more powerful Houses, and I was negotiating past the preliminary stages of setting up ah, __physical connections with her when someone knocked with depressingly clear purpose on the door._

_Vith._

Tylinyl pulled away and her full lips curved into a smile.She was using the interruption to make me squirm, and Lloth, was I."One day you will have to balance your personal life with your job, _mrann d'ssinss." _

I was about to say something suitably gallant along the lines of her being a new weight in favor of the balance tilting towards my personal life, but she slipped off the desk and adjusted her clothing (not that it made her robes any less revealing) then opened the door in a twirl of silk and a graceful twist of her hand.

Another female, and more guards.The guards were eyeing Tylinyl's guards with disfavor.Tylinyl's guards were eyeing the newcomers with suspicion.All this was promising to become violently interesting, but then the female bowed slightly in Tylinyl's direction, in a gesture of greeting as cold as a Matron's heart. 

Not to be outdone, Tylinyl also bowed, then made up for the imagined implication that she was in some way following Gaer'la by voicing a greeting first."_Vendui, Gaer'la Taek'tharm." Eldest daughter of the House rivaling Ssh'starm in current power._

"_Vendui, Tylinyl Ssh'starm." Gaer'la touched the long braid that was part of Taek'tharm's disaster of a hairstyle unconsciously. A muscle in Tylinyl's jaw twitched – an illusory victory, perhaps? That a member of Taek'tharm had made a gesture of discomfiture in front of a member of Ssh'starm?_

Drow politics are so engaging, no?

There was a promising pause, but I was to be disappointed - instead of the expected following conflict, both females bowed again stiffly, and Tylinyl turned around to level another smile at me, though this one looked like how a block of ice would smile."Later, Ti'er," she said, lingering on the intimate shortening of my name, then swept off, trailing her guards in her wake.

Gaer'la frowned at the 'Ti'er'.I hurried to speak before she could fabricate all sorts of alliances and such out of the air, as females under pressure are wont to do.Little bit of stress and they crack all over the place.And this side of the gender rules the city.I ask you.

However, to be polite, and also because Gaer'la was bigger than I was, I forced a semblance of a smile onto my face."_Vendui, Gaer'la Taek'tharm.Have you business for my humble self?"_

The sentence seemed contain enough servile fawning, for she recovered enough to motion her guards away, step in, and close the door, the latter becoming, for an instant, a symbol of another closed book in the short, unpopular, complicated series that was my fast-deteriorating social life.

"This is your main office?" 

There was a barely hidden sneer on her otherwise comely features as she took stock of her surroundings, occasionally craning her neck slightly to look in imaginary, sinister orifices, bringing to mind a mental image of a worried diatryma in bad territory (read: soon to be disemboweled, crushed, mangled, stung, bitten, burned, or whatever droll dangers that the Underdark could throw up at the point).

I settled into 'promoting' mode faster than metal dust would settle in water.

"Our main office, _elamshinus uss, is based in our House, but most prefer our sub offices for convenience.If you would forgive me for saying so, no one likes to be seen entering an Investigations office."_

Gaer'la sniffed, but made a general 'go on' noise.

"No one likes to be seen as someone who has problems great enough to require the services of _ragar noamuth."A mouthful that could be shortened into 'RN', though that abbreviation irrationally irritated me._

"It is convenient to place your offices in such areas," Gaer'la said, as we forged through the painfully stilted, preliminary stages of a business transaction.

"I thank you, _elamshinus uss," I said modestly, "Matron Ilith'vir was generous enough to consider my suggestion."_

"This was your idea?" Gaer'la seemed shocked that she had actually shown an iota of approval for a _male's idea.Lloth, I hate dealing with such extremes in the spectrum of prejudice._

"She did mention before that something resembling this…idea, as you aptly pose it," I hastily said, again groveling, "would allow Investigations to gain an edge over Bregan D'aerthe, which I am sure you know is the only other competitor for our services as _ragar noamuth."_

Gaer'la nodded wisely, or attempted to look as though she was doing so.Silently somewhere part of my mind was laughing, but most of it was still committed to attempting to get through this without getting turned into something invertebrate and nasty.Matron Ilith'vir wouldn't be devastated by my death – I was only her brother after all, and not holding a 'true' rank in the House.Though she would, knowing her, relish the idea of using my death as a reason to bring down another House.

"Giving the mercenary group carte blanche to sift through records would be tantamount to suicide," she added.The cynical part of me counted all the difficult words and held up a score with a flamboyantly sarcastic air.Admittedly it did not contain many digits.I hoped she would get to the point before my feet fell asleep.

"House Thr'tynlbur wishes Investigations to find Tyfein Taek'tharm," she finally said with studied care, as if afraid that she would say something that would be used against her later."Dead or alive, it matters not."

_Aha. "Tyfein being your weapon master?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.Well, well, Taek'tharm's weapon master going AWOL.Their Matron must be most upset - Tyfein had graduated with honors in the year above me in Melee-Magthere._

I filed that fact away for further reference.

"_Was our weapon master," Gaer'la said sharply, offended at being interrupted.Time to snivel a bit more._

"My profound apologies, _elamshinus uss, I was not aware of that fact." I said with a tone with the consistency of crude oil._

Gaer'la looked pacified, for she continued grudgingly.This was apparently distasteful to her - and it didn't take much intelligence to deduce that her Matron probably made her do it."Tyfein was last seen leaving for his no doubt disreputable haunts at Eastmyr, and did not return.If he is dead, Matron Taek'tharm would like to see his body." This last stood out.Not his inventory, but his _body.Strange._

"May I ask a question?" I began cautiously.

"You _may."_

"Would you happen to be informed as to the location of his 'haunts' Eastmyr?"

Gaer'la wrinkled her nose, as if I had suddenly turned into a _haszak."__Nav." Her eyes avoided contact, a broad hint that she was lying.That was normal - a RN expects everyone to lie to him or her, even if the subject is attempting to tell the truth. Yes, it gets confusing, and it does get frustrating, so for convenience's sake Investigations assumes that whomsoever is paying us is speaking the truth until overwhelming evidence is unearthed._

But why would she lie? The most obvious answer would be that the location was embarrassing to her _delicate sensibilities.I made a mental note to check out the more controversial sections of that already seedy district.It did contain many drinking pits into which the errant weapon master could have ventured.Matron Ilith'vir would probably accuse me of enjoying it._

I'm innocent, I tell you.I've never been proven otherwise.

"Forgive me, _elamshinus uss, but Investigations requires more information - could you deign to fill up this form?" I pushed one of the standard 'Missing Persons' papers tentatively in her direction.Only way we can get personal information, really.For some reason, most beings prefer writing to actually giving voice to information, even if one tends to write more of something than one would speak about it. _

I bet _you didn't know that._

It proves my point that most females are equipped with as much brains as a _thoqqua, because she didn't even notice the barbed point in my words._

She sniffed and did so, ungraciously.It took an extraordinarily long time in my estimation - Gaer'la wrote as slowly as a child learning how to pen words for the first time did.

It seemed like a pretty straightforward case however, and the pay was certainly almost as attractive as I found Tylinyl, so we shook hands (figuratively - no highbrow female would _descend to shaking hands with a male) on the contract._

She left eventually, probably hurrying to go away before I did something typically male and disgusting, agreeing to send a communications disc to House Ilith'vir to settle the more vulgar parts of a business transaction like rules and money and the agreements that if we did something 'wrong' House Taek'tharm _would, of course, have no knowledge of us in a business sense._

Resentment from me? Why, none, none at all.I find such cloistered stereotypical examples of the…fairer sex most entertaining.Don't you?

The pay was large enough for me to be able to ignore all the other cases on the desk at the moment and send a communications disc to the House.Formality, a request for help, and also to remind the Matron of my existence and that yes, I was doing _something._

I dressed hurriedly to go – leather armor and piwafwi, folding the more comfortable robe and trousers neatly then stuffing them into a drawer.By the time I'd finished help was comfortably seated on its haunches on the desk, idly scratching the smoothed stone furniture.

Llyrx was a typical Dreix imp, not really popular as familiars because they cannot provide the mage with magical help, and are rather afraid of battle.They look like tiny versions of Tunnel Bears, and even share the same purplish gray fur and beady black eyes.However, these can fly - two sets of bat wings sprout from their back, two large ones from the 'shoulder' and two smaller ones lower down.

Flying with this sort of wings always struck me as clumsy.Llyrx flew like he was battling and clawing up in the air, not unlike the streaking, graceful swoops of feathered birds that were small enough to fly in the Underdark tunnels.

The only reason why I used Llyrx was because he can sketch and I can't.You'd never believe he could either - his 'hands' looked a lot like paws.

What, did you think I _enjoyed Dreix imp company? I had a theory that the Matron chose their species to negotiate with on purpose – they're one of the only things that could irritate me._

"Had a nice sleep?" I asked Llyrx, not really out of curiosity, but to open a mental channel.Needs my voice for some reason.

Llyrx shook his head vigorously, and there was that idea that someone was drilling into my head and pouring something unpleasant in, then his rather squeaky voice spoke in my mind._No, thanks to you._

_Then my work is done. I retorted amiably._

_Where are we headed, oh great and compassionate Master, light of my life?My, isn't this so unbearably exciting__?I don't think I can stand it._

_I'm not having a good day, Llyrx, so cut down on the sarcasm.Either Eastmyr or Melee-Magthere._

_I don't feel like getting disemboweled today.Do I get a say in this?_

_I'm open to suggestions.I rubbed my temples.Speaking telepathically always gave me a mild headache._

_We go to Melee-Magthere, and if your contact doesn't kill you out of bothering him, for sword practice, or just for the sheer hell of it, then we go to Eastmyr._

_Thank you for that vote of confidence._

_I try._

**

Getting into Tier Breche was the troublesome part.Technically I was a Master, even if I was one of relatively low rank (read: more pathetic in fighting as compared to…say, my contact, and also of a House of much lower rank).However, out of some subtle and elaborate arrangements, I did not have to go to Tier Breche to teach very often, hence my exact status was unknown (read: volatile and subject to whim). 

The stairway to Tier Breche is still the largest single piece of architecture in the entire city, as it was then.As I climbed up the neatly cut steps I wondered which of these were enspelled with killing spells and which were 'clean'…but even if they were enspelled, the spells were rarely, if ever, used.I had certainly never personally seen that happen.

_Certainly no one could be stupid enough to attack the Academy._

_Llyrx, you would be surprised._

The two drow guards, last-year students, standing on the topmost step of the stairway lifted their long swords smartly into attention, and a opal of fiery hue winked from the rings of spell turning on their ring-fingers.The guard horns, that would summon immediate aid if they were attacked, rubbed in a barely noticeable, metal-against-metal rasp against their belts as they straightened.

"Who goes there?" the larger one challenged, as instructed.

"A Master of Melee-Magthere," I showed them the bracers brusquely.They bowed politely and let me through.Trying not to show relief, I hurried away – from here I could hear the chittering of the wall spiders that guarded against the invasion of Tier Breche from the air by shooting sticky web at intruders.It was only a rumor, but sometimes these spiders may just decide to shoot web at 'friendly' drow as well.

Melee-Magthere squatted in its corner of the Academy, fat and shapeless, compared to artistic Sorcere or magnificent Arach-Tinilith.Actually, in a certain light, if you squinted, you could convince yourself that it was pyramidal.

I tried to put as much distance from myself and Arach-Tinilith as was possible with the maximum amount of dignity and the minimum amount of notice.Not that I have anything against a building partially dedicated to welding to females the metal plaque of philosophy on which would be carved: _Females better than Males.Lloth better than everything.Ambition is the key to success.Try to kill as many of your fellow species as possible in your lifetime and justify it…and such pearls of wisdom…_

Arach-Tinilith, in a word, frightens.Spider-shaped and huge, it hunkered down and seemed to watch every intruder into Tier Breche intently and with malign intent.Currently in the large space before it some of the senior students were undulating in what they probably thought was a sensual dance fitting to honor Lloth, around a large brazier in which a bright purple-blue flame danced, flicked sparks, and blew oily smoke.Occasionally the Mistress in charge of the weird ritual would break off her monotonous chant and theatrically toss in a pinch of coarse whitish powder, which would change the color of the flame into a mottled dark green for a short while.

There was no apparent otherworldly consequence that I could make out as I left rapidly.However the flickering shadows painted by the flames onto the bodies of the priestesses were vaguely threatening in their chaotic malevolence, and the congregation, incongruous as it may seem from a distance, looked quietly powerful this close.Symbolic, in a sense, pertaining to Arach-Tinilith in relation to Menzoberranzan.

Inside, halfheartedly carved gargoyles and drow adorned the walls, not contributing much to the beautification effort, but succeeding in giving the uninvited a sense of distinct unease.I wished Llyrx wouldn't hang on so tightly in my cloak, and then proceeded to wish myself somewhere far, far away as passing students shot me curious and wary glances.I had the feeling that they were paying more respect to my bracers than to myself.

Melee-Magthere has always reminded me of a first year mage student – all pretentiousness, with the nervous, defensive attitude of those who aren't really sure what their place is.

_Are we there yet?_

_Not even close, Llyrx._

_I want to sleep._

_If that'd make you shut up, by all means._

_I'd fall out of your cloak…_

_And hopefully you'd break your neck._

_The ensuing silence in my mind felt offended, but I was in no mood to apologize.Melee-Magthere was turning me into a skittish rothe calf, which irritated me._

_I am calm and confident.Confident.I do not care what these students think of me…_

_Good for you.I was nearly taken in by your superb acting._

_Sleep, Llyrx._

The corridor I was following opened out into a miniature amphitheater, better known as the Concourse, one of the only truly open spots in the endless maze of uniformly unassuming assembly halls, armories, sparring halls and sleeping cells that made up Melee-Magthere.Students enjoying (read: not being killed) in their break sat in little groups at the benches that lined the sides, or on the stairs, playing with dice, chatting warily, in whispers, or just spending time in that semi-alert, trance-like state that passed for sleep.Some looked up as I passed, mostly the newer students, eyes already cold and ruthless.They'd have to be, to survive.

The oppressive mood was playing on my already tight nerves like a priestess with a prisoner.I felt better that students didn't carry weapons, but still felt grateful for the concealed knives secreted in my clothing.My only flaunted weapon didn't inspire much confidence though (read: would not really discourage attack) – a slender dagger on my hip, standard black hilt traced with silver spider designs.It was supposed to be a Lloth-blessed dagger, but as far as I found so far it didn't have any magical or divine properties.

I had to pass the central canteen, another painfully plain place, where some ate in silence, as quickly as they could.As they ate their eyes roamed everywhere, scanning for a possible ambush.Eating was, of course, a time when one was vulnerable, and hence something to get over with all speed.

_Not that the food here's anything to be savored, if what I heard is correct._

_Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?_

_We aren't there yet? Walk faster, you.You're even slower than a haszak__ walking on its tentacles._

_Oh look, a cooking vat.Methinks it lacks a certain ingredient…screaming Dreix imp, perhaps?_

_Okay, I'm sleeping.See? My eyes are closed._

_You nearly fooled me._

_After getting lost a few more times – it had been a year since I'd visited my Alma Mater – I managed to find the contact exactly where I'd thought he would be, in the gymnasium._

The gymnasium wasn't an impressive looking place, and if one didn't know about it one would probably think it a storeroom.Students went to the sparring halls if they wanted to spar.

_Wonder why._

_Students are all posers.The gymnasium isn't public enough to show off._

# Oh…

_We're here.Get out of my cloak._

_I don't like your contact._

_Wimp._

_Admit it, you're scared of him too._

_I wouldn't call __it scared…_

_Oh?_

_He was doing pull-ups on one of the bars, boots a few feet off the ground, skin ostensibly taking on a velvet texture in the dim light emitted by the light globes, stripped to the waist, swords, piwafwi and armor in a neat pile on the ground.He spoke blandly to a small, female drow child curled up in a chair next to the stand, bantering with quips and good-natured insults._

I did not share his apparently amiable attitude and frowned at the girl – an underage _female child in Melee-Magthere? Even a priestess would not truly be welcome unless invited.She wore her House insignia openly – one of the scions of House Do'Urden, stranger and stranger.But considering the extent of aptitude in weaponry of her evident protector, what could possibly befall her here?_

"_Ilharn," she warned as she noticed me and glanced up sharply, "Someone's here." The quality of her speech for one of such years mildly surprised me, as did the reference to my contact as 'father'.Most females do not concede such a family tie._

"I know," he said calmly, and pulled himself up again, chin over the bar, all perfect control, before letting go, landing catlike on his feet, and then turning to raise an eyebrow at me."What do you want, _velguk?"_

"Information," I said just as candidly, wondering why Zaknafein insisted on referring to me as 'assassin', then glanced at the girl-child, who seemed to be industriously writing into a book."Admirers already, Zaknafein?"

"Vierna, meet Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir," Zaknafein said in a world-weary tone."_Ragar noamuth, __Qu'el'velguk of House Ilith'vir.That is '__noamuth' with only one 't', __dalharil."_

Vierna stilled her quill and pouted up at him."Don't correct me!"

"Would you rather Briza did it?" Zaknafein asked, and flashed her a fleeting, genuine smile when she flinched.

"Then again…" she said grudgingly, leaving the sentence hanging.

"Baby-sitting, Zaknafein?" I asked dryly."The warrior feared for his love of murdering drow priestesses? Didn't think you had this in you, even if she _is your daughter.And in such a place, too."_

"Melee-Magthere is as safe a place as any, and Vierna is Malice's new arsenal in spying on her weapon master," Zaknafein put a defensive hand on the child's shoulder."I must admit she has proved more tenacious than all those disgusting animated spiders…and certainly a lot more attractive."

Vierna giggled as Zaknafein winked at her.He certainly seemed happier than the last time I had to see him – which was a short time after the nasty incident with Matron Malice Do'Urden that had stripped him of his rank as patron.I had never seen anyone in such a black mood until then, and hoped not to again.

Or perhaps it was just the presence of Vierna.From all reports I had heard so far, and certainly from the behavior I'd witnessed, he seemed devoted to his daughter, an attitude that the cynic in me stated would not last past Vierna's eventual admission into Arach-Tinilith.Rumor had it that quarrels between Zaknafein and Malice over whether Vierna would or would not enter the Academy had been the last straw that caused Malice to make such a resolution.House Do'Urden's weapon master simply had to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

_This Vierna…a weakness to be exploited?_

_You can be so single-minded.I did not think Zaknafein Do'Urden would have any weaknesses, Llyrx._

_That isn't an answer._

_Did it have to be?_

"Spy?" I asked, more to start my normal tactic of dealing with Zaknafein – to keep talking non-stop until he gave me the information to go away than out of any true wish of finding out.

"She used to put spiders on my clothing until she realized that unless I was distracted I always managed to dispose of them.So she made Vierna follow me around at certain periods when I go off alone somewhere, and take down whatever I say or do that is interesting." Zaknafein sighed."I haven't been able to get rid of her yet." His speech was odd today – rushed and on the verge of stumbling over each word.Some state of excitement?

_Can't be over meeting you._

_Shut up, Llyrx.This could prove to be more interesting than I thought._

_What could?_

_Finding out whatever happened to him in the short period of time before we happened along._

_What happened?_

_Obviously a fight.But with whom, I wonder?_

_Not that evident to me._

_That's because you're a Dreix imp._

_Thank you for that perfectly rational and convincing reply, master._

_Shut up, Llyrx._

"He doesn't like me," Vierna confided in a stage whisper.

"I worship you," Zaknafein said, striking an exaggerated pose before slumping back into his normal bearing."There, are you convinced now?"

Vierna attempted to sniff in disdain, but spoiled the gesture by sneezing.She recovered with commendable alacrity."Again, with more sincerity, _ilharn."_

"What do you know of Tyfein Taek'tharm?" I asked, partly in an attempt to regain control of the conversation, and partly out of self-consciousness at witnessing something unmistakably private.

"What is it worth to you?" Zaknafein replied casually.

"I could easily go through the official records, but they tend to be rather dry.Did you teach him?"

"As I taught _you, yes." _

_That didn't sound too enthusiastic…I wonder why?_

_Shut up, Llyrx._

_I can fly in a loop too, if you wish._

_Eh?_

_Unless, of course, your complex and logical mind concludes that the only command I can follow is 'shut up'._

_You can't even follow that simplistic command, how can I give you more…complicated ones?_

_All right, all right._

_"How did he strike you?" I took out my notebook.Zaknafein was an excellent judge of character…_

"Swift and precise, but without enough follow-through, too easy to block." Zaknafein said critically.

…when he was serious.

"I meant…"

"I know," Zaknafein cut in."Tyfein was…is…ah, he's dead, is he?"

I cursed myself silently for talking in the past tense, then cursed Zaknafein for being too sharp today."_Suspected to be."_

"It makes no difference to me," Zaknafein picked up his famous black swords and buckled them on in a single, practiced movement, though his fingers seemed to be enigmatically shaky."Tyfein _is fairly intelligent, but his attitude was too independent to be a fighter." His mouth twitched at the side, as if he was mocking himself."He seemed to me then to be a very divided personality…reckless but never too brash, occasionally creative and then suddenly very inflexible."_

The swords at his side, Reaper and Reaver, he touched with sensitive, nervous long fingers, tracing the inlaid jewel designs on their heavily enchanted hilts.On will, for an unknown but finite number of times a day, Zaknafein could cause a zone of anti-magic to surround him, something he had used to great advantage for decades, as well as the higher degree of magic resistance he enjoyed when holding the pair.The matched blades were sharp and double-edged, and still managed to be perfectly balanced and light enough for Zaknafein to wield with a two-handed style comfortably.

"Any…vices?"

"Do you think all students treat me as some sort of shoulder to cry on and tell me all their secrets?"

I tried to imagine Zaknafein as such a father figure, but my mind slunk away in defeat after a half-hearted struggle.

"No-o…"

"But I _do happen to know that Tyfein was addicted to gambling," Zaknafein peered at Vierna."Must you write this down, __dalharil?"_

"_Ilhar told me to." Vierna stuck out her lower lip mulishly._

"_Ilharess," Zaknafein corrected instantly."If you were to call Malice 'Mother' in front of her, you would have been whipped."_

"What sort of gambling?" I asked briskly, feeling control slip away from my fingers a second time.

"For Lloth's sake, Ti'erlfein, it was _years ago," Zaknafein scowled at me, plainly wishing that I was somewhere else, hopefully expiring painfully."I cannot recall.Ask Jarlaxle if you must."_

"Jarlaxle? What does he have to do with Tyfein?"

"Tyfein was independent, as I told you.Do you not listen? And where do excessively self-reliant fighters look towards?"He spoke with exaggerated patience, as if speaking to a very dense child.I ignored the slight, my mind now whirling with theories.

"Tyfein wanted to join _Bregan D'aerthe? But he became weapon master…" This was very interesting indeed. _

"His Matron had objections," Zaknafein said unnecessarily._Of course."And Bregan D'aerthe is not powerful enough to take on an entire House yet, though it will be."_

"Did Jarlaxle turn him down? Tyfein seemed skilled."

"Jarlaxle talked to Tyfein often, but they seemed to come to some resolution.Tyfein stopped approaching Bregan D'aerthe, and Jarlaxle…well, who knows what deal he made?" Zaknafein was indifferent again, though his slightly flushed cheeks in the little infra vision that was available in the dim light betrayed his inner emotions.He was unquestionably very proud of something, but what? Odd, as excitement was not normally an emotion associated with elves.

_Why do you think it was because of a fight?_

_Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? But if this will make you keep quiet…because that is one of the only occurrences that can make Zaknafein this exhilarated.Sometimes I think fighting is__ his life._

Circumstantial evidence.

_Hah, yes.Besides, he has a new, deep scratch in his chain mail.Adamantite chain mail.Hence, an adamantite weapon or an enchanted weapon must have delivered the damage.And I'd have heard of any student currently in Melee-Magthere that would be good enough to actually land __such hits on Zaknafein…_

_Hence it is a noble or a well-known freelance warrior?_

_Bravo, Llyrx, your grasp of the obvious is staggering._

_I blundered into that one, didn't I?_

_"Are you expecting someone?" I asked.Rhetorical question – Zaknafein immediately shot a swift glance at the direction of the entrance to the gymnasium in reflex, but he folded his arms and fixed an impassive expression on his face._

Silence broken only by the soft scratching of pen on paper as Vierna wrote.

"Would you happen to know what Tyfein did…_does in Eastmyr?"_

"I am tired of questions," Zaknafein said shortly."Pay me."

"I would pay you more if you could answer that one."

"Would you like me to make up a story now, then?" This was the annoying thing about Zaknafein – he was unpredictable.One instant he could be accommodating (read: answering questions and not threatening to cut off one's head), and the next he would be obstinate (read: one should start backing off towards the nearest exit).

"So you do not know?"

"I am not his guardian angel, _velguk.Why would I want to know why he goes to mere east?"_

_That's strange._

_Yes?_

_That he used 'mere east' instead of 'Eastmyr'…that's what young drow call it._

_Zaknafein is not old._

_But he's not young._

_Your logic is as devastating as always._

_Time to back off."__Bel'la dos, Zaknafein.You have been of great assistance."  
"Pay me." Zaknafein held out his hand pointedly, palm out, and the sword calluses were oddly visible._

With a sigh, I reached into my pockets.

A final question as I began to leave, "Why so smug today, Zaknafein?"

A shot in the dark, but it hit – Zaknafein twitched again."Why should I tell you?"

"Since you seem so proud of it…"

"_Ilharn bested Uthegentel Armgo," Vierna said unexpectedly.She had been fidgeting in her chair since Zaknafein had suddenly turned emotionless, and I had expected an outburst, but this made me raise my eyebrows._

"Uthegentel?"

"It did not take much effort," Zaknafein preened in Vierna's worshipful gaze.

"No one told me he was dead…"

"I did not kill him."  
"And whenever I think I understand you, you do something that is the opposite of my conclusions._Why?"_

"Because, Barrison Del'Armgo is still much bigger than Do'Urden." Sarcastic again, as if the political intrigues and struggles of an entire city simply amounted to a complex but juvenile game.

"Then what is the fun in that?"

"Do you remember what Uthegentel was proud of other than his strength, ability and size?" Vicious relish, promising to turn into something good (read: amusing).

I attempted to recall every (unpleasant) occasion so far in which I had met House Barrison Del'Armgo's freakish weapon master and the answer came to me.

"His hair."

Zaknafein stalked over to a small pile of what looked like personal belongings on a torturous-looking piece of exercise equipment, and tossed me a small pouch.Inside was a large, thick lock of white hair._Drow hair.And it looked very familiar._

I looked up and met his smug smirk with a disbelieving grin."By Lloth."

Zaknafein bowed solemnly, and caught the pouch as I tossed it back to him, secreting it back amongst his belongings."He will never wear it long again, if he knows what is good for him.Perhaps I should get the hair woven into a cloth to wipe my swords." Vierna sniggered.

"Did you challenge him?"

"No.The poor bastard told me to my face that he would meet me at the outskirts of the city and slaughter me." Zaknafein smiled one of his rare smiles that enhanced his already handsome face."Vierna was upset."

"I just threatened him with a charge of showing disrespect to a female and priestess-to-be, and then with the disfavor of Lloth," Vierna protested."I was _annoyed."  
"My apologies, __elamshinus uss," Zaknafein said mockingly.Vierna made a very coarse finger movement._

"I _will forgive you if you let me decide which part of Dantrag Baenre to cut off," Vierna conceded."You __are going to fight him next, are you not?"Zaknafein chuckled, but made no reply.Suggestive, but Zaknafein probably knew how wily Dantrag was.He would never go into an outright confrontation like Uthegentel._

_Zaknafein doesn't seem to be a good influence._

_Vierna only has a few more years to enjoy his bad influence, Llyrx.She has to go to the Academy eventually._

_Pessimist.Her personality has a chance of surviving, you know._

_Just as a drow with no hope of any sort of aid has a chance of surviving in a drider pit, I suppose.In that case, yes,__ she does have a chance._

_Pessimist._

_You have already mentioned that._

_Zaknafein seemed to ignore me, and glanced at the entrance again, this time appearing to find what he was looking for."You can come out now, Jarlaxle."_

"You make it sound as though I were hiding."

The mercenary approaching was fast becoming one of the most respected 'rogue' drow males in the city.Although Investigations was quite aware of the ties Bregan D'aerthe had with House Baenre, it was also just as obvious that once Bregan D'aerthe gained more power than House Baenre, Jarlaxle would promptly sever the ties.Or he may not – the mercenary leader was even more unpredictable than Zaknafein, if that were possible.

Behind Jarlaxle was someone heavily cloaked and hooded, face concealed, but by the length and confidence of the stride, I could tell he…or she was a warrior, and a skilled one.Zaknafein's mouth twitched again – this time into something resembling a satisfied smile, which departed just as quickly as it had appeared.

"I gather from Uthegentel's change in hair style that you won?" Jarlaxle's eyes twinkled merrily.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Vierna asked fiercely.

"Ah, this beauty _must be Vierna," Jarlaxle tipped his wide-brimmed hat, large diatryma feathers dipping gracefully._

Overwhelmed, Vierna looked to Zaknafein for support.He tilted his head for an instant – _ignore him._

"There is someone I would like you to meet," Jarlaxle remarked, very proud of himself, gesturing towards the hooded figure.

"_Dalharil, would you mind not writing this down?" Zaknafein decided, clearly unwilling to let Matron Malice know of the identity of the figure, which increased my curiosity a hundred fold._

"But…"

"Was not Nalfein supposed to take you drider blasting *?"

"He was supposed to come when I got bored, and I'm not bored yet because something is obviously going to happen and…"

Jarlaxle was obviously enjoying this, for he chuckled at this point.Zaknafein glared at him, then sighed."True, it could be the best if Nalfein were _not to see you." It was not clear if he referred to Jarlaxle or the hooded drow._

"Well then…" Vierna reached into the pocket of her robes quickly.

I frowned again.Asking a wizard to portal into Melee-Magthere? But in those days they did not have a very powerful teleport block as yet, and as if to drive in that point, a flat plane of blue opened up behind Vierna's chair.A drow mage of average height and unprepossessing demeanor strolled out; his movement deliberate and decisive, weaving an aura of quiet dignity.

His heavily decorated robes swirled around him for a moment as he planted his mage staff on the slate ground and took his bearings.Nodding to Zaknafein, he picked Vierna up easily, ignoring Jarlaxle, the hooded figure, and myself.

"_Ilharn…" Vierna realized she had been tricked.Jarlaxle flashed her a knowing grin, and Nalfein a wink from his uncovered eye, and the purportedly powerful mage smirked for an instant before regaining his imperturbable expression._

"Be careful," Zaknafein said formally."_Vendui, Vierna, __Qu'el'faeruk Nalfein."_

"_Vendui, __Qu'el'saruk Zaknafein." Nalfein replied just as politely, then quickly swept back into his portal before Vierna managed to open her mouth to protest further._

Zaknafein waited until the portal closed then turned to me, his stare cold and hard, like the metal of his swords."Why are you _still here?"_

"I am taking the opportunity to ask Jarlaxle about Tyfein," I replied on impulse.

_Why this insatiable desire for sordid knowledge?_

_The word 'sordid' makes it all worthwhile, Llyrx._

_Now I see what Matron Ilith'vir meant by…never you mind._

_Yes?_

_I'm sleeping…_

_You really should stop talking in your sleep then.You start spouting all sorts of amusing gibberish._

"Tyfein?" Jarlaxle raised the eyebrow uncovered by his elaborate eye patch.He looked me up and down openly, something that could be considered insulting, but in the face of the power that the slender drow represented, I let it slide.

"What are you doing in Melee-Magthere, Jarlaxle?" I asked curiously, trying to start the 'interview' on my own initiative."Bladen'Kerst Baenre…"

"Does not know I am here," Jarlaxle said smoothly.Bregan D'aerthe and Investigations (read: Matron Ilith'vir) got along by pretending the other did not exist, but we did occasionally 'assist' each other in 'inquiries'. "What did you wish to ask?"

Canny fellow, trying to beat me at my game."Would you know what Tyfein does in Eastmyr?"

"Would you pay me if I do?"

"I would consider that."Doesn't anyone answer questions for free?

_Master…you do notice that we are in Menzoberranzan…_

_Good point._

_"The races." Jarlaxle abruptly became cooperative._

"The riding lizards?"

"I know of no other.Any more questions and you owe _me."_

I shook my head.The price would most certainly not be worth it, and I counted myself lucky that I had actually extracted some information with no strings attached.

_No apparent__ strings attached._

_Look who calls me a pessimist._

Jarlaxle appeared to lose interest in me and turned to Zaknafein."Zaknafein, you now have to repay _your side of the debt."_

I concentrated on fading into the background, i.e., making no sudden moves or overt reminders as to my existence.

Zaknafein glanced to the hooded figure, who, on some hidden cue, twitched aside his cloak, revealing a cadaverous face, scarred horribly on the left side of his face, such that his eye had been put out.The long-healed wound had been covered over by a plain eye patch.The drow's left sleeve hung empty and forlorn – one armed, one eyed, and of obviously advanced age, why was this cripple still alive?

But Zaknafein's sculpted face was now wreathed with smiles."_Vendui, Caomh.How has life been treating you?"_

Caomh…he was dead, by all reports…once one of the best Masters in Melee-Magthere then hunted by his House due to some incident.The friction between himself and his House had been building up for some time due to his famously radical views on drow society, and the flare-up and subsequent supposed death of the Master had come to no surprise to Investigations.

"I am alive," Caomh replied, as if that were sufficient answer, returning the smile."Thanks to you, I gather."

Jarlaxle positively radiated smugness."It was no small task locating him in Braeryn, even with my contacts."

Ah, Braeryn would be the place where this Caomh would have been able to survive being hunted, even crippled, if he were as good as reports went.The 'Stenchstreets' was the slum district of Menzoberranzan, where the 'undesirables' went to try and eke out a living.

"_Xas, __xas," Zaknafein said impatiently."You may send me the student tomorrow.But you __still owe me a favor.Caomh has no doubt been a great benefit to Bregan D'aerthe."He winked at Caomh, who rolled his one good eye._

"He defeated two of my lieutenants in combat, even…disadvantaged as he is, and he has proven to be a good teacher," Jarlaxle admitted easily, bantering with Zaknafein now."_Bel'la dos, Zaknafein."_

"Student?" Caomh asked, apparently glossing over Jarlaxle's extravagant words.

"You will teach some of my soldiers, and Zaknafein will teach some," Jarlaxle explained, sickeningly pleased with himself."That way more of Bregan D'aerthe's selected may be trained suitably.Caomh, when you finish with Zaknafein, do return to the Clawrift base."Tipping his hat again, the mercenary turned on his heel and left, no doubt to slip out of the Academy as easily as he had sidled in.

Caomh watched Jarlaxle go, then muttered."He still reminds me of the time when the two of you were students."

"You actually remember?"

"I remembered the both of you."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Perhaps.You two were the 'berserkers' of different years that went down each free day to Braeryn instead of back to your Houses, fully armed and carrying a day's worth of hard rations, and returned to Melee-Magthere covered in the blood of the slain who were unlucky to enter your range of sight, eh? Where you would be promptly…appreciated by females admiring, of all things, your bloodthirsty ways."

Zaknafein shrugged, dismissive."If I remember, neither Jarlaxle nor myself spent a night in the six months at Arach-Tinilith in our actual beds.I never knew how we acquired that name.We never did 'berserk'.It was fun."

"Suicidal and needlessly dangerous, you mean.The very essence of what one's attitude becomes when one is under a berserker rage, hence the nickname, I would believe."

"As I said, 'fun'."

_Very fascinating._

_I'm glad you think so, may we go now?_

_Be quiet, Llyrx._

_Caomh suddenly looked at me."Who is he?" Blunt-spoken, I could well imagine how his current situation came to be._

"Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir.After your time," Zaknafein said carelessly.

"Ilith'vir?" Caomh said vaguely, then remembered."Ah, the notorious Investigations.No wonder Jarlaxle was so…willing to answer his questions."

"_Bel'la dos for the flattering description.You were Zaknafein's teacher?" Another shot in the dark, but by the sudden freezing of Zaknafein's face, the answer was quite clear._

_Careful…_

_Zaknafein would not attack, Llyrx.House Do'Urden knows fully that if one of its scions attacks an Ilith'vir, Matron Ilith'vir would not hesitate to take revenge._

_Releasing crucial information on breaches in defense and sentry duty changes and such?_

_It is very effective.House Do'Urden newly climbed a rank and there are several below and above that currently wish it did not exist._

_Zaknafein does not strike me as the sort to adhere to priestess commands._

_And you have in a pinch most of the male population.Like it or not, most do obey commands…they do not want to end up like Caomh, or a rogue like Jarlaxle._

_Wonder why Jarlaxle did not ask him to join Bregan D'aerthe?_

_The last time he did, apparently Zaknafein informed the rogue that his next answer to a question of the same context would be with Reaper and Reaver.Though I have been told it was in not-so-polite terms._

_Very effective…but just in case I'm going to prepare a teleport spell._

_Such admirable faith you have in me._

_Only natural._

"And a good job I did, too," Caomh continued wickedly."Though I should have attempted to teach him more than weapon skills.If you had been intelligent enough, you would still be patron."

Zaknafein scowled at him half-heartedly."Maybe I should have let you rot in Braeryn."

Caomh snorted, then changed the subject."Vierna is your daughter?"

Zaknafein nodded, though from habit, cautiously.

"Pretty little thing," Caomh remarked, "Malice should…"

"Ah?" Zaknafein fingered his swords, an unconscious gesture that he performed each time his attitude became guarded, then seemed to remember something, for he unbuckled them, then offered them to Caomh.

Caomh narrowed his eyes."Yes?"

"A gift," Zaknafein said gravely.I blinked.

"What…why?"

"Because Malice may be seeking to confiscate them soon."

"What did you do this time?"

"Why does it always have to be something _I did?It is only that she knows they are the only material items I value now, and she might decide to be spiteful," From the way Zaknafein pronounced the last word, he managed to make House Do'Urden's fast-rising Matron sound both immature and needlessly vindictive."I would rather you accepted them, than for her to give them to her next…patron." The last word said with effort._

## Ah…

Caomh indicated his missing limb with a nod of his head."Oh, to have my arm back," he said, his smile forced."I would never be able to hold both."

The swords were still proffered, and slowly, unwillingly, Caomh grasped the scabbards.In the face of the undercurrents of emotion and sympathetic understanding between the two I felt more awkward than ever, and out of place.And I was _drow, for Lloth's sake._

"My son Eyrek'mer cut off my arm," Caomh said conversationally as he weighed the scabbards, and when he turned up his face, his eyes were full of grief and bitterness, but his expression was perversely hard, not vulnerable."I thought him different.He was the only one I truly cared for."

"You put him to rest?" Zaknafein's voice was gentle, and sounded displaced coming from the efficient killer of House Do'Urden.

"A very neat way of saying I killed him, yes.He…took so long to die…"

Zaknafein clapped a hand on his teacher's shoulder, looked piercingly at me, and then jerked his head in the direction of the exit.Taking the hint, I quickly started towards the archway.

_Hopefully Zaknafein would get the hint._

_Llyrx, stop talking in riddles._

_He's obviously too attached to his daughter.And there would be a higher chance of her turning on him than a son turning on a father, and look what happened to Caomh…_

_Very true._

_So where to next, O great leader?_

_Eastmyr, or the office to send some notes to the Matron._

_Office.I'm still not in the mood to be disemboweled._

_Eastmyr is not that__ dangerous, Llyrx._

_Yes it is._

_I refuse to argue with such a juvenile mind.Very well, the office then.What just happened may just make Matron Ilith'vir's day._

# She's your younger sister, is she not?

_You know perfectly well._

_Referring to her as 'Matron Ilith'vir' sounds so stilted._

_That is how life is._

# Who's talking in riddles?

**

The walk back to the office was notably uneventful, to Llyrx's and my relief.I wondered if I should ask my younger sister for a riding lizard, and decided against it – she had not been in a good mood lately._Matrons._

_At least she let you have a position in her House._

_Matron Ilith'vir is much more bearable than Mother dear ever was, yes._

_And you don't have to do much as Qu'el'velguk, as compared to if you were Qu'el'saruk…_

_That was a point of prolonged debate.I was beginning to entertain the idea that running away to hide behind Jarlaxle's feathers had its advantages, but then she gave in._

_Well, you do __fight better than old "hargluk" Y'lerklr._

_He has the single-minded capacity to do the same things again and again each morning without getting bored, and I do not.Matron Ilith'vir recognized that…eventually._

_He is also patron._

_Only in name.Matron Ilith'vir is tight on giving too many males titles, and since she beds someone new nearly every night…_

_She does seem to gather more information than even you do, doesn't she?_

_I refuse to answer that question._

_The Circle Column market was sinking into one of its lulls, and I was grateful for the lowered volume of noise as I approached my office, my thoughts elsewhere, probably, knowing me, in Tylinyl's direction.Hence it was Llyrx who noticed the intrusion._

_There's someone inside your office._

_I do not hear anything…_

Because you Ilythiiri, like humans, have the scent skill of a foulwing with its nose stuck in a cesspool.The stench is obvious to the not sensory-challenged.

_Shut up and tell me what's inside._

_If I shut up how can I…_

_Llyrx!_

_It already knows we're here.Calm down, it's only one haszak._

_What!?_

--

Translations and References:

_Vendui: I greet you_

_Elamshinus uss: favored one_

_Haszak: Illithid_

_Ilharn: Father_

# Ilhar: Mother

_Ilharess: Matron_

Drider blasting: A sport popular among mages with offensive spells to try out, or mages simply looking for a bit of fun with a strong flavor of risk.Basically one floated above the drider chasm and 'blasted' driders with spells, hoping that said driders would not break through defensive shields.

# Qu'el'faeruk: House Wizard

_Qu'el'saruk: House Weapon Master_


	2. Part 2

Part 2

Part 2

I considered backing off – all my anti-psionic devices were at the House, and I had no desire to get my mind blasted open and my brain eaten.

_Maybe it's friendly.It smells a little different, anyway._

_Llyrx, you need your head checked.This is a haszak we're talking about…what does smelling different have to do with anything?_

_How should I know? And besides, It hasn't blasted us yet, and it knows we're here._

_How do you know it knows?_

_Because I can feel its mind here…_

_I do wish Llyrx would mention these sort of things __early.Cursing under my breath, I put my hand on my dagger and opened the door, half-expecting some sort of rush._

The _haszak stood at the side of the desk, long, skeletal clawed fingers tapping impatiently.It turned large, almond-shaped milky eyes to me, squid-like head a revolting shade of leprous white, tentacles twisting gently into little spirals at the tips.The robe it wore, as in the traditions of its kin, only served to enhance the 'underfed' appearance of any __haszak, and it sported elaborate designs in muted colors._

I did not see _haszak often, but one thing struck me – this creature's skin was not slick with slime, but dry and crinkled like crumpled old parchment.I frowned, and wished I had paid more attention to monster identity classes in Melee-Magthere._

_I've never seen a haszak__ with skin problems before._

_Master, that's not a haszak__, that's an alhoon!_

_Eh?_

_An undead haszak__._

_Vith._

_I attempted to smile pleasantly at the creature."__Vendui…if you are here to seek the services of Investigations, I am sorry if I have kept you waiting."_

The _alhoon folded its arms, and a new voice spoke in perfect drow in my mind, flat but edged with sharp amusement, firm and determined.:__I have not waited long.I wish you to follow me to Manyfolk to speak with my leader.Your pet may stop cowering in your clothes – I do not eat Dreix imps.The amount of perversity…ah, dirt, one could say, in Abyssal minds makes consuming the brains not worthwhile.:_

I smirked as Llyrx let out a muffled squeak of mixed dismay at discovery and indignation at being called a 'pet', then climbed up to sit warily on my shoulder."I think I like it already." I murmured to the imp.

For once, Llyrx seemed too overcome to reply, so I spoke to the _alhoon again, trying to sound as if finding powerful undead creatures appearing in my office was as common as nobles in Narbondellyn."Lead, then." Automatically, I made as if to open the door._

:_Needless walking is but an activity for those not gifted with enough magic, Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir.: The creature stared at the wall, and a large rectangle of it took on a glassy texture.Odd, no frills or elaborate gestures had been involved in the spell._

:_Such 'frills', as you say, are only required when there is a need to impress another with one's power, and you already seem sufficiently aware of that fact.Come.:The __alhoon glided through the rectangle.As I would rather be invited there than to be forced over via some ingenious mind-control spell, I followed, holding a part of Llyrx's wing to keep the imp from trying to escape._

I _hate mind readers._

The teleport was much smoother than a 'conventional' drow teleport – i.e., it did not make one feel as though one should be disgorging all of one's internal organs.I only felt mildly dizzy, as if I had been spinning around on one foot.The _alhoon did not have an expressive face (if you could call something resembling an upside-down squid a face), but I had the feeling it was entertained by my unsteady stagger._

When the world stopped its crazed spinning I noted that the part of it with me in it also contained a half-sphere room carved into rock and polished until the surface was burnished, traced with veins of adamantite as thick as a drow finger, in mind-numbing patterns.The significance of this I did not understand, and did not particularly wish to.There was also no apparent door, a fact that a non-magic user as myself always finds depressing.

The _alhoon glided over to the nearest wall and caressed it with its claws.Immediately a portion of the veins of adamantite seemed to melt and flow away from their positions, forming a thick band outlining the shape of an archway.A second touch, and the rock enclosed by the band blurred away, to reveal a second, larger half-sphere room that I followed the __alhoon into._

I did not see if the _alhoon replaced the rock, for the room commanded my attention as easily as an accomplished weapon master would command his soldiers – by fear and awed respect.The rock of this room was not a dull gray like the portal room, but an unusual muted hue of purple-green, in what seemed like a thousand different shades, from the darkest nearest the floor to a bright spot at the highest point of the ceiling.More veins of metal, though this time of what looked like expensive mithril, in geometric patterns.On the ground the veins eventually sank into the burnished obsidian dais at the center, on which was a chair draped in a tapestry that from what I could see seemed to depict a dying __haszak._

Other _alhoons surrounded the dais at intervals, and I counted at least eight of them, milky eyes scrutinizing me, tentacles writhing subtly, with no apparent arms or wands.They did not need any, if my estimate of __alhoon power was correct._

_Odd for so many alhoons__ to be in one place, especially in Manyfolk with all its inquisitive neighbors._

_Is that what you find odd? I find the fact that Investigations is not aware of them odd, Llyrx._

_Alhoons__ shouldn't be this sociable.I'd think a group of six would be large already…and I have a feeling these aren't the only ones in this group._

_Now I feel so__ much more confident.Bel'la dos__, friend imp._

_I try._

A single _alhoon sat on the chair.Its skin was more wrinkled than the others, its eyes yellowed, and its robes more elaborate, with the same geometric design as the room.Its thin right arm was covered in a thin plate-armor of silver, carved with spiraling designs interspersed with black opals, but for what reason other than decoration I knew not.In its left claw it held a small sculpture of a Hell Hound, carved out of jasper.It did not seem very surprised to see me, but by the sudden relaxation of its posture, I deduced that my appearance was at least satisfactory._

The _alhoon that had brought me here moved in front of me and bowed.:__Here is Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir as requested, Lord unpronounceable word.:_

Lord Something pretended to notice me for the first time.:_Well done, unpronounceable word.:Its voice was stronger in my mind, with the hollow 'feel' that came with multiple mental projectionIts speech in my racial tongue seemed formal and pedantic.The __alhoon that had taken me here stepped to the side._

I supposed it was my turn to speak."You have a service for Investigations?"

:_No, I brought you here to scrub the floor.Of course I have a service.: Ah, another __alhoon with a sense of humor.Maybe undeath is good for __haszaks after all._

"What would you like accomplished?"

:_Someone, or something, has been killing alhoons__ in Menzoberranzan.:_

To my horror I spoke before I thought of consequences."Are you not already dead?"

:_Very droll, Ti'erlfein.No, we can be 'terminated'.We have been finding members of our band inanimate, as you would say, over the past few weeks, with their brains…removed.:_

"It is well known that the essence of an _alhoon brain, if you forgive me for saying so, is a component for spell-writing inks and the creation of magical items…"_

:_We are well aware of that fact, Ti'erlfein.However our members are highly trained mages, and only a very powerful mage or mages would be able to take down one without alerting the entire band.This…killer entity, if you would, has even managed to lure the now deceased members alone into deserted areas, a feat that I would like to think is very difficult.This has only happened over the last week, and we have existed in Menzoberranzan for a significant amount of time.Find the one killing our kin.:_

"Do you wish me to…assassinate him?"

:_That is not required.unpronounceable word __here will journey with you, and it will undertake that task.:_

I could hear Llyrx whimpering in my mind."I do not entertain…"

:_I trust that he will not be in your way, and if this…killer has strong magical abilities, you may find it useful to have an alhoon __of unpronounceable word__'s caliber with you.:_

I decided to refrain from pointing out that I did not even _intend to encounter something that could kill __alhoons, only to __find it."Do you have the bodies of the slain?"_

:_I had anticipated that request.Follow unpronounceable word __and it will guide you around this place, and offer you more details.A word of warning – do not stray away or try to 'explore'.What we can do to you, you most possibly already are aware of.I will send a communication disc to your House to inform Matron Ilith'vir and speak about payment.Now, a token of my appreciation…: _

It tossed the small sculpture to me, and I nearly ducked, but had enough control of myself to catch it instead.It felt warm to the touch, and again I had to fight not to drop it on instinct.

:_These are quite popular among you Menzoberranyr, if I am correct?A few times a day you may summon a Greater Hell Hound to serve you.__Its aid may be invaluable if you encounter the murderer.:_

A powerful gift indeed."_Bel'la dos," I said gratefully, and wondered how much treasure this band had if they could afford to give away such 'tokens of appreciation' so lightly._

:_Now you may leave, but remember my warning.:_

In the face of such a _gracious invitation, I could not but follow my guide, who bowed once again to Lord Something and moved to the nearest wall._

This time we ended up in a room that seemed almost normal, which lightly surprised me.The air was as musty as the other rooms – _alhoons did not need to breathe, after all, and so apparently did not believe in ventilation.The reddish coloring of the rock seemed to take on an organic quality, making me feel as if I was standing inside a warm-blooded creature.Five steel tables stood neatly in the center of the room (__alhoons seem obsessive in this aspect), with another table at the head of them, on which was a tray of dissecting equipment.From the chains and manacles attached to the walls, and the empty cages stacked at one side, I gathered that this was one room in which I was glad I was in __not under to coercion._

On each table was an _alhoon corpse…er…body…let us just leave it at 'body' and stop all those snide jokes, shall we? They had either been recently…killed…or a spell of preservation had been cast on them, because they had not started on the stages of decay as yet._

:_Spells of preservation.They are not so difficult.:_

"What can I call you? Your name is too difficult." The silence of the _alhoon habitation was getting on my nerves, and besides I wanted to get out of here before the little air in this chamber was used up.Suffocating inside an unknown __alhoon stronghold was not one of the ways in which I would like to leave this existence._

:_Perhaps…'Priol' would be simple enough for you.:_

"_Bel'la dos for that view on my mental capacity, Priol." I had the bad habit of being cocky towards powerful creatures that cannot harm me.I shifted my shoulders – Llyrx had a death grip on them - and approached the nearest table._

The corpse had not been mutilated in any way except in the portion of the head, where it was missing the portion that roughly contained the brain.That had been precisely sliced away, as if with a very sharp blade.The _alhoon corpse showed no signs of a fight, nor did the others, which had been afflicted, ahaha, with the same occurrence._

"Where were these found?"

:_The one closest to you, and the one on the table to the right, were found near Donigarten, hence at first we believed that drow patrols in charge of watching over the farms had been responsible.However, the one to its right was found in the Braeryn, the next at the outskirts of the city, and the last at Eastmyr, too dispersed to have been the work of the same patrol.:_

"You seem convinced it is the work of drow hands?"

:_There are no beholderkin in the city, we know of all the haszaks__, and the only liches here are drow.The only creatures here powerful enough to kill alhoon__, and have a clear motive for doing so, are also drow.No other races dare to take us on.:_

A generalization, but I decided to leave it.It was well known that _alhoons only had three mortal enemies – beholders, liches and __haszaks that were alive, so I had expected the suspicions to fall on those first. "Any specific suspicions?"_

:_A group of mages killing for profit.:_

"Not one mage?"

:_If so, that one mage would have to be what your kin call a Mage Lord.:_

Definitely not a prospect I would like to entertain."Do you know where each body was found?"

:_I was one of every party sent out to recover the bodies quietly.:_

"Why you?"

:_I am new to the band.This matter is the quest given to me to prove myself worthy to membership and its privileges, to put it in terms plain enough for you to understand.:_

"And I was beginning to like you, too."

:_You believe your opinion of myself actually matters? And Lord something__ had such high hopes of your intelligence…:_

_If it weren't alhoon __I'd like it._

"Shut up, Llyrx.I will have to look at the places where you lot found the corpses…"

:_I gathered that from your questions before this.:_

"Well yes, let us pretend that I have to constantly, audibly reassure myself of what I think of.Is that suitably drow-like behavior for you?"

:_You left out the unnecessarily obvious statements and the egotistical assumptions of self-worth, but basically, yes.:_

"Can I ask one more stupid question, then?"

:_You want to know how to use the Hell Hound.You need to invoke it by speaking the name of the Hell Hound geased to it.:_

"Let's pretend I'm really retarded.What _is the name?"_

:_You need not play at pretense at something that is already blatantly true.You will only be told the name when you prove to me that you are of some__ worth.Of which I am currently in the opinion that unless you undergo full brain transplantation, you may be of as much worth to this 'case' as a cancerous growth would be to a creature.:_

"Ah, I knew there was a catch.Actually, I have another ongoing investigation, so we can kill two _darthiir with one stone and go to Eastmyr."_

:_If you wish.: Priol, as he had bluntly 'spoken' earlier, was not willing to actually admit that a race of lower intelligence could be of any use to the __alhoon band, and radiated an air of condescending good-humor._

_Sometimes I find it hard to believe that people actually pay you to solve their problems, myself._

_There are several dissecting knives in reach.Would you like to bet if you can portal away before I hit you with at least three?_

_If you only bring me along to insult me, I'd return to the House._

_You're here because Matron Ilith'vir made it compulsory to bring a Dreix into any field investigation, and certainly not out of my whim._

_I should think so, or you Ilythiiri __would certainly seem to be setting new standards in the realm of perversity._

_Shut up, Llyrx._

**

I managed to follow Priol's caustic directions to the area that it insisted on calling the 'scene of the crime' without even collapsing once, meditating all the way on how I hated traveling via portals.

Eastmyr, the home of the relatively poor (not rich enough to live in Manyfolk and higher places, not poor enough to have to languish in the Braeryn), was a sprawling, dirty excuse for a habitation, though the streets were still as cleared of rubble as those in any other part of the city (excluding, perhaps, the Braeryn).Ostensibly such that a city dedicated to Lloth would be elegant, etc, but it was unspoken fact that the lack of rock and stones meant the lack of handy weapons for the riff raff.

Priol wore the guise of a commoner Investigations _ragar noamuth, and walked slightly behind me, so as to keep up the pretense that I was of a higher rank.I tried to ignore the idea that I should have worn several inches of adamantite plate between my shoulders, and concentrated on his mental directions._

:_Now, you turn left at the next junction.Left.Do you not know your left from your right? Left!:_

"I was only avoiding that group of mercenaries," I muttered, eyeing said group's backs with relief.It was not that I did not know how to defend myself – it was just that I did not feel like mustering enough effort to actually do so.In my current state of dizzy misery, I would almost welcome several inches of cold steel and thankful oblivion.

I firmly hung on to the idea that the alley I turned into was empty.Nice and empty, with no mercenaries looking for quick money or some outlaws…

A sudden flash of cool, light gray, metallic, and I automatically drew my dagger, blocking efficiently, metal shearing off metal.By the little I could see of the opponent's blade in the infra red, he had one of those nasty small curved blades that one holds between two fingers and uses in punching motions, to try and trick the opponent into believing that one is unarmed.I silently gave thanks for my heightened awareness due to the uneasiness that I felt with Priol at my back – for if I had not parried, I would have suffered a nasty stab.

No time to feel relieved, for the situation did not have much else in my favor at present.The mugger had apparently acquired, somehow, a _piwafwi, so I couldn't see him at all…_

_Llyrx…_

_Yes Master.Coming, Master.I tremble with joy to obey your command to launch myself at a bigger and armed creature, Master._

_One of these days I will weigh you down with sandbags and heave you into the monster-infested Donigarten Lake._

_Such incentive! I'm absolutely expiring with eagerness to carry out your order…_

_I think I have some spare throwing knives around here somewhere…_

The abrupt lack of weight on my shoulder signaled that Llyrx had launched into flight, and was attacking by scent – the sudden cry of pain somewhere in front to my right gave me all the direction I needed.My left hand moved before I thought – it was such a practiced motion, like toweling down after a bath, that it was instinctual.

There was a choking gurgle, and hot orange-red flowers spurted into the infra red vision.I wished that Eastmyr had invested in better lighting…

A jade-green ball of mage light spun into existence above the fast-expiring mugger.Priol had finally decided to do something useful other than watch.

"Didn't want to help?" I barely flinched as Llyrx alighted clumsily on my shoulder, its thoughts laced with receding adrenaline.Stooping down fastidiously to avoid the blood, I managed to retrieve my triangular knife with only a few stains on my gloves that would be easily removed, wiped the blade, and secreted it back in its hiding place.The mage light faded back into darkness.

:_You were coping well enough by yourself.I would have been greatly disappointed, even with my current assessment of your ability, had a mercenary of such low skill been able to cut you down.:_

There wasn't much answer I could find to that, and by the short time I had 'enjoyed' his company so far, I knew there I had not a chance in a verbal match against Priol.I decided to disregard the insults and pilfer the few coins I could find on the corpse, ignoring the _piwafwi – too cumbersome - and we moved on before the carrion crawlers came. _

We finally came to a dead end sandwiched by the back walls of crumbling buildings.Rats and worse scurried or slithered away as we gingerly looked around – or rather, I poked around while Llyrx tried to hold its nose and Priol stood in the roughly cleaner adjoining alley.

"Some light would be greatly appreciated." I called to Priol.

:_Never thought I would hear a drow say such a thing.:_

"Never thought I would actually be on speaking terms with your type."Eastmyr had ears, and Priol knew well enough what I referred to.

:_I would hate to break your illusions…:_

_"Really."_

:_…but in the face of your glaring misunderstanding of our relationship, I feel I simply must express the truth in terms simple enough for you to understand…:_

"_Bel'la dos, I think."_

:_You think? I am shocked…simply stunned.However I digress.I would have given no thought to devouring your brain had we met in different circumstances.:_

"I foresee the start of a…great and beautiful understanding." I walked carefully in a grid pattern, to quarter the sceneas efficiently as possible as the mage light grudgingly swirled back, bright enough to see details but not bright enough to attract unwanted attention.

:_Perhaps I would not devour your brain in any circumstances after all.:_

"My turn to be shocked, Priol.A change of heart?"

_Master, have you ever heard of the word 'suicidal'?_

_Shut up, Llyrx._

:_Of mind.The heart is but a muscular organ for pumping blood, in case you were not aware of that.Eating your brain might have a high chance of making me more stupid.:_

"Influential even in death.Compliments already."

:_You Ilythiiri __constantly astound me with your grasp of language, especially your own.:_

"We _are known to be notoriously intelligent, more so than mere vitally-challenged __haszaks."_

:_I wonder if killing you now would be considered self-defense.:_

I snorted.My scrutiny had yielded nothing.No footprints, even in the dust, other than my own.No handy murder weapons or evidence, and even more inconveniently, all traces of the effect of the attack (fluids and such) had been cleaned away, probably by the _alhoons themselves.The attacker must have levitated – which meant magic.Now I had something I could grasp…_

Fumbling in my pockets under Priol's curious, lofty gaze, I found the indicator, a fingernail-thick bit of paper as long as one of Llyrx's claws.I waved it around in the room, slowly, then waited.

The essence that was a part of the paper turned color when in contact with residues of magical energy, and by whether the hue was bright or dark, one could also tell roughly how old the residue was.

"How long ago do you think the murder was committed?"

:_Mayhap seven days, eight at the most.:_

The paper was now tinted with what seemed like random splashes of color.Strong shades of grayish turquoise with hints of green – I assumed that to be the effect of Priol's illusion spell and mage light.Some very light warm brown, what I knew to be background magical radiation of the Underdark, shades of grayish umber with speckles of carmine ranging from faded to very faded, and more tinges of what was apparently Priol's magic.None of the red-purple of drow magic.Very, very odd…

:_Well?:_

I schooled myself to think of gray blankness.Even Llyrx kept its mind perfectly neutral."The indicator is not very accurate, and hardly tells us which shade corresponds to what creature or race – we make assumptions based on earlier experiments…"

:_I should add 'long-winded' to the list of drow traits.:_

"Fine, be that way.There are only a few magical 'signatures' I can make out for the past week.There's yours, of course, with the other _alhoons, and a very faded one, which I assume belonged to the…deceased, then there's the Underdark's.No drow."_

:_What?:_

"There are no footprints, so the assassin must have had been skilled in magic.Perhaps he found a way to wipe his magical residue."

:_I could find if that is possible.: _

"Are my ears deceiving me? You actually…and this I can't believe…_offered help?"_

:_There is as much stake here for me as there is for you, you half-witted excuse for drow.:_

"Perhaps you are right…not for the latter bit of your statement, though."

:_I thought that even one so blind to evident fact as you would have seen that.:_

"I give in to your superior vocabulary," I held up my hands in mock surrender."Since there are no other apparent clues here, let's go to the races.I need to check something there."

Priol shrugged illusory drow shoulders in a gesture of magnificent indifference.

**

We entered the main grounds of the large racing pits through one of the many side entrances, as I did not want to attract any more attention than was absolutely necessary. 

Since space in a large densely populated cavern is at a premium, more often than not space was created – downwards.I did not know what to expect, having never visited this sort of gambling pit before (a surprise, no?), and so was not surprised at the elaborate carvings and designs on the walls and pillars.The foyer through which we meandered across was busy, though not crowded – from snatches of conversation I gathered that a race was starting soon.

A sign on the wall detailed the structure of the pit – the racing tracks, the stables, administration, restaurants, restrooms…too many to search at one go.

:_And who, or what are we looking for?:_

"Tyfein Taek'tharm." No harm telling Priol – better that I do it willingly than for him to pluck the information out of my mind.

:_And what would he be doing here?:_

"Gambling.Apparently it's one of his addictions – and it may be in our favor that a race is starting soon – he may be around here somewhere."

:_The spectator stands look immense.:_

"I was sort of hoping we could find him in a less busy environment…"

:_This Tyfein is important?:_

"Relatively.He used to be Weapon Master for House Taek'tharm."

:_Then perhaps we could look in the more 'elite' areas.There should be some around here – all gambling pits have them.:_

"Hmm…"

_Try the stables._

_"Llyrx, have you been taking drugs behind my back?"_

:_The imp may actually be speaking sense.Since these riding lizards are part of the core for such lucrative gambling, they would be very valuable.And it is my experience that only certain creatures of certain rank are allowed into a radius of such valuables.:_

"You don't have to hint so heavily, I get it…"

:_Good, I was wondering when you would.:_

Gathering the shreds of my dignity around me, I stalked off in the direction of the stables, with Priol chuckling in my mind.

The fact that a race was starting proved inconvenient later when we finally found the entrances to the stables, and the guards refused entry to us, apparently on suspicion that we would try to rig the races.Priol proved more useful than a movable source of lighting, and we got through when the _alhoon tired of watching me argue with two exasperated guards._

As a further precaution he 'cloaked' us as we walked in the stables.Stable hands, owners, jockeys and the presumably more important hangers-on walked around us without seeing us (always exceedingly useful).I did manage to switch from flinching each time someone passed in a finger's width radius to observing my surroundings…eventually.

I looked carefully at each face and peeked into each stall as we walked slowly in the seemingly endless corridor, but no Tyfein.The stables were a floor below the races, with stalls interspersed on the outer wall of a wide corridor that formed the perimeter of a large circle.The inner wall of the circle surrounded a mushroom field with two guarded exits, where riding lizards were led to warm up.

Not all of the stalls were used – mostly just those close to the exits at one end of the circle – those deeper in were usually abandoned and not even cleaned.The warm, pleasantly lit stalls near the exits, which housed the riding lizards running for the upcoming race, gradually faded into a darker, more forbidding environment.Occupied stalls became fewer, there were fewer creatures around, until finally we were alone and our only illumination was Priol's mage light.

I was beginning to feel an agreeable sense of boredom (in Menzoberranzan, excitement usually has potentially lethal undertones) in the empty place.Tyfein was not here – perhaps we could check out the spectator…

_I smell something really bad…_

_"Specifics, Llyrx." My voice sounded unnaturally loud in the still atmosphere._

_Something's dead._

_"Well yes, just look behind us."_

_:__Very funny.I believe the imp meant that it smelt a rotting, inanimate corpse, yes?:_

_Eep! Er.Yes.Rotting.Inanimate.Definitely corpse. Um._

_"Stop having hysterics, Llyrx.Priol, I think this inanimate thing is catching among __alhoons…"_

_It's not an alhoon__…it smells like…drow…_

_Very, very bad feeling._

**

I swatted away flies from my face as I peered into the murky gloom of the stall where the stench was apparently emanating from.Priol obligingly moved the mage light into the stall and brightened it – and my stomach began to regret that it had done that.

What struck me was that the scene was incongruously orderly and normal, if one ignored the liberal splashes of dark copper-scented blood.The fungus-hay had been evenly flattened down such that it resembled a carpet, and precise designs had been painted onto the wall with a dry, crackling brownish substance, which looked depressingly like blood.The corpse was on its back in the center of the stall, naked from the waist up, from what I could still see of it, the former owner was a well-built male drow.The removed clothing was in a folded pile in a corner of the stall, as were the weapons, stacked on top of the fabrics and armor…and the remaining details got simply more gruesome.

The drow had been eviscerated – sliced precisely from neck to stomach by a sharp weapon and the edges…pulled…open, as if opening the flaps of a bag.Inside was a crude red, nothing else…

_All the stuff's in the corner to our right that we can't see.You know, internal bits._

_My answer was interrupted by the sudden need to stumble into one of the adjacent stalls and throw up._

When I sheepishly recovered control of myself, I was surprised to find that Priol did not have some caustic comment along the lines of thinking that drow should be inured towards this sort of gore – instead, the _alhoon glanced once into the stall then seemed to grow bored with the spectacle._

_Need a sketch of the scene?_

_"For files," I determinedly emulated Llyrx's businesslike air, and the imp got to work."From the face, that is very obviously Tyfein.Dead for…not yet a day, recent.Lloth, the flies…"_

_If House Taek'tharm is looking for something on the body – yes, I heard your message disc – I hope it wasn't on the front._

_"Perhaps…that…__vith, wait." I closed by eyes and took deep, measured breaths."Okay.Maybe the chest was just a distraction.Look at the right arm."_

Under the stains, one could make out geometric designs, that had been cut into the arm, extending from the shoulder to the elbow, though a large patch had been left alone, giving the sense that something had been there.

Perhaps the something that House Taek'tharm was so obviously trying to find on their Weapon Master? But what would need such a…ritualistic killing and removal?

:_And now?: Priol sounded impatient.:__This has no apparent relation to the murders of my kin, and I would much rather be off investigating those matters.:_

Talk about a sudden change in attitude.I shot it a sideways glance, decided to take my chance, then took out another indicator, swallowed my bile, and stepped in.

Llyrx made the equivalent of exclamation marks in my mind at the results.

The only magic that had been present in the scene other than the current mage light, illusion and Underdark emanation sprang into color, but I had expected the shades, only needed confirmation.

Quickly I crumpled the paper in my palm and backed out of the stall, enfolding my mind back into neutrality, then turned to Priol to make some harmless comment…

…except that it was not there.

Then I felt a hard force against my skull, and staggered forward, then another, and I fell on my face.The last thing I saw before I was claimed by a deeper darkness was the indicator paper, that was flushed a clear grayish turquoise – Priol's magic…

__

-----

Translations and References:

_Alhoon: Undead illithids, also known as illithiches.Only discernable difference is that their skin is dry and wrinkled, not smooth and slimy like a 'true' illithid.They are accomplished psionics, and may even take 'true' illithids over with the force of their minds.Enemies are liches, beholders and other illithids.Their brains, disgusting as it seems, contains elements used for writing magical scrolls, and are also an essential part for the creation of powerful magical artifacts._

_Darthiir: surface elves_


	3. Part 3

Part 3

Part 3

Someone was probing my head with none-too-gentle fingers, and the slivers of pain were beginning to form into a union of general agony.Pointedly, to signal that I was back in the too-bright realm of awareness, thank you, I groaned and shifted, regretting the latter motion immediately.Now the union was protesting and trying to carve their way out of my brain with blunt knives.

"I _did make you sleep on your front for a __reason, __Qu'el'velguk."_

"Ah…that would explain the dreams of someone trying to suffocate me with the large Ilith'vir banner normally displayed over the throne in the chapel."I murmured, keeping still and trying to ignore my mind's suggestion that I should pass out.

"In all the years I have known you, _Qu'el'velguk, that has been one of my greatest temptations."_

"What happened?" Death threats tend to override my blacking-out urges.Blearily I tried to make my eyes focus.

"I _told you bringing Dreix imps around during field duty had advantages.If Llyrx hadn't portalled back to inform us, you would have died."_

"Too often have I heard that particular refrain."Vaguely I registered that the speaker was Matron Ilith'vir and the pragmatic part of me attempted to contrive a more formal attitude, before she could charge into one of her favorite circular arguments about my attitude problem."Did Dreix report, _malla Ilharess?"_

"From what I could understand from its hysterical babbling, apparently you have been through a day bursting with coincidence and action.You just _happened to get a service from House Taek'tharm, then just __happened to be approached by a group of previously unknown __alhoons for help, then just __happened to find that the __alhoon guide – again coincidentally – sent to aid you was the culprit in both the __alhoon murders and that of Tyfein Taek'tharm."_

I winced."Since you put it that way…"

"Simply _beautiful.I wish all investigations were as full of strewn gems as this one."_

I could not tell if my sister was being sarcastic or not – she had that sort of voice.And against my throbbing headache, I struggled to decide if she was mocking me, rebuking me, or just being annoying, then settled for changing the subject.I did that quite often when speaking with females.

"You believe that someone has been controlling all the events?"

"_Qu'el'velguk, in __which gambling pit have you left your brains?"_

"I do _not visit gambling pits."_

"Is that _so."_

"The races was out of necessity."

"Is that _so."_

Even though it _did happen to be true in this instance, yet I floundered in her caustic air, but I struck out again bravely.Occasionally one needs to show some backbone when speaking to __certain more-intelligent-than-usual matrons. "The __alhoons?"_

"Your mind is definitely not present, _Qu'el'velguk.They would not kill their own, here in Menzoberranzan, where their numbers and secrecy is their strength.And if they __did do it, why ask __you to investigate?"_

"Some powerful group of drow?"

"Could be.But you know the true answer, or part of it.Remember the indicator papers…or has that knock on the head driven it out of your memory?" Matron Ilith'vir was being abnormally patient.However, I had never been wounded this badly before, even in that long-ago complex fracas with a human Arch Wizard (which I was still trying to forget), so I had no prior experience as to whether she treated all those seriously injured like this, or if her unpredictable mood had turned mellow today.

"The _alhoon guide Priol…"_

"Is actually the lichdrow Dyrr of House Agrach Dyrr, I know."

"Ah so Llyrx told you…_what?"_

"_Qu'el'velguk, do pull your mind out of automatic before I drag you out of it with my snake whip.I am not __that boring to speak with."_

"Priol is _Dyrr?" Very bad news indeed – Dyrr was known by Investigations to be an extremely powerful lich, fanatically devoted to his House and the development of its members, especially in the arcane arts.He was also reputed to be over a thousand years in age, effectively making him the oldest…er, animate…creature in Menzoberranzan._

"As I said.Are you not paying attention to me?"

Under pressure, my mind switches tones by instinct, but I knew when I spoke that I had made a small mistake."Merely an exclamation of surprise, _elamshinus uss."_

"You don't need to use that disgusting tone of voice with me, _Qu'el'velguk.I may decide to throw up over you.Even if it is not worth the effort and would just create a mess in this cell you call your room."_

I managed to turn on my side and take my bearings.I was in my room in House Ilith'vir…comfortable, scruffy, and not luxurious, since I only spent a few hours in it every day.There was little furniture – only a soft bed, a rickety desk and a wobbly chair, a bedside table that gave the impression of trying to melt into the shadows, a moth-eaten divan, an empty cupboard and a wardrobe with one broken hinge.Its desperate severity I usually treated as my sanctuary – a cool, gray place to reflect in quietly whenever I had a headache, a circumstance that was more than comfortably frequent whenever I chanced to be in House Ilith'vir.Now shall I stop myself before coming up with another sexist quip?

Matron Ilith'vir had pulled up the chair to the bed – or knowing her, some minion had done it for her.She sat primly in it, straight-backed as a Mistress' dogma, small hands demurely in her lap, finely boned, delicate features settled in an enigmatic expression as she archly glanced around her surroundings.Long, dark-painted fingernails only served to heighten my impression of a chaotically unpredictable black feline that was quick to use its _very sharp claws, purring at one moment and hissing at the next.Now, before she __ah, bit off my head…_

"Please accept my sincerest apologies…"

"You are doing it _again."_

"Ah.Very well.So are the investigations concluded?"

"In a sense.House Taek'tharm has removed the corpse and paid up, and the _alhoons have been confused but have also, more importantly, paid up.I believe this is yours?" She fished in a pocket in her clinging, expensively tasteless robe and held up the hell hound figurine._

Cautiously I risked a glance at her inscrutable face, but prudently decided not to reach for it."_Xas…"_

Unexpectedly, she put it on the bedside table dispassionately, as if handling something vaguely interesting but ultimately unimportant."The _alhoon leader said to tell you the name was Halsshar."_

I felt mildly surprised.The figurine had been something I wanted to hide from the Matron, having assumed that she would want to keep it.Certainly if I were in her pointy, soft fur-lined shoes I would have wanted to.She probably knew what it did – the Dreix imps always squeal to her about such details, which is part of the reason why I do not like them along in an Investigation.It's difficult to enjoy the more amusing parts of this line of work with a spy looking over, or in most cases, sitting on, one's shoulder.

"About Dyrr…"

"We will not be bothering a House that is not only 'noble' but also much bigger than us in any way.Be thankful that you are alive."

"Very competent of him to have been able to deceive the _alhoons in such a way though.So much for their vaunted intelligence."_

"More than competent, I would say," Matron Ilith'vir rubbed her eyes, and I wondered how much towards the Black Death of Narbondel it was, and what date.How long had I slept? "I would think the _alhoons were just too ecstatic over gaining a new, powerful member.Dyrr is old, cunning and experienced, so I would not have been entirely stunned if he had entered the organization on some other brilliantly contrived grounds." Quiet admiration, which I shared.Fraud and such crimes are silently applauded in Menzoberranzan, especially if carried out well.Not to say that they do not invite repercussions, but in a way, the tricking of an individual or a group celebrates the intricacies of minds and sentient intelligence, so there is little or no 'official' investigation.And of course, most of the time the ruling council simply cannot be bothered with such trivial matters._

"No entertainment this Black Death?" I said slyly, shooting metaphorical crossbow darts into the light in hope of striking a reason behind her current mood.

She shot me a glance so sour that it could ruin a hundred bottles of fine mushroom wine."Do not think I do not recognize your trying to change the subject.However, it happens that yes, you are correct.Ah, surprising, is it not? It has come to such a deplorable state of affairs that I have to spend it speaking with a concussed, undesirable male."

"Disgraceful." I smirked, deciding not to pick up on the word 'affairs'.My Matron's patience could only be stretched so far.

"Why, I believe I have just wasted an _incredible amount of healing spells.Maybe I should reverse the effects and retrieve the energy…"_

"Everyone seems to be out to bruise my ego today."

"Good.If it did not happen regularly you would be unbearable."

"I thought you said I already was."

Matron Ilith'vir merely looked exasperated, while my Mother would have whipped me into the next decade if I had spoken back to her with even a hint of spirit.

I decided to try a variation on my earlier questions before she launched into a tirade about my attitude problems.I do _not have an attitude problem, whatever she may think, even in the light of some of her favorite examples of certain exploits, but that's another story."So do you know why all these coincidences forced themselves on me today then?"_

She shrugged slender shoulders."You have already made some suggestions, in case you have misplaced your mind again.It may have been true coincidence, someone may have been manipulating everything, or the vaguely related matters were fated to string themselves into the chaotic knot that you stumbled into.Who cares."

I blinked in shock.

"The clients have paid, and we do not want any more trouble.Need I continue, or has the blow fractured more than your skull?"

"No…wait, my skull was _fractured?"_

"You need not look that horrified.Have _some faith in my healing spells.I __am a High Priestess, after all."_

"Priol…that is, Dyrr…wanted to kill me, then."

"I _knew it.What little intelligence you had possessed has actually been adversely affected by the blow."_

"I feel as if I am being led around by the nose.First everything happens to me in one day after long periods of nothing, I get more confused than I have been in a decade, then when I get hurt and wake up someone explains most of it to me."

"Very well, the next time this happens I can leave you there after you get hurt, and _maybe you could have the decency to die quickly."_

"Your words of encouragement and understanding uplift my spirit, _elamshinus uss."_

"Sometimes I hate you."

"Only sometimes? I must be doing something right, then…"

"At other times I _loathe you."_

Knowing I was doing something dangerous, but being in too much misery to care, I grinned cockily at my sister.Sometimes it's worth it to stretch her patience just that little bit closer to a frothing-at-the-mouth explosion.She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in an extravagant plea for patience.

"May I ask you something that could be extremely idiotic, then?"

"It would certainly _be idiotic, if it came from you.What?"_

"Do you happen to know what Tyfein had on his arm that House Taek'tharm wanted to retrieve? Do not give me that look.I am merely curious.Curious.That _is a good trait."_

Matron Ilith'vir rubbed at her chin with one slender finger."From you, I would not agree.As a matter of fact, yes, I happen to be in possession of the answer to your question."

"Out of curiosity…what is it?"

"I saw the corpse, you need not indicate the position for me," she said impatiently as I tried to be helpful.No one _appreciates me.Sometimes I feel like jumping off into the Clawrift.Maybe that would show __them.Though when I think more closely about it – what stops me from actually jumping off is the nagging feeling that __they would not notice anyway.Bah._

No, I am not egotistical.

"It was something I thought odd that had been removed – as to the motive, and as to how completely it had disappeared.It was a large tattoo of a blind spitting cobra."

"One of the nastier local snakes…do you have any idea why it was removed?"

"One day your curiosity will be your death, _Qu'el'velguk."_

I ignored that as carefully as I could."So you do not know why it was removed."

"I should correct my earlier statement: your tongue _will be your death, and soon, if you stay __this annoying.Tyfein acted, when he was alive of course, that the tattoo was a source of, or a symbol of, great power.He liked to keep it covered, though, but he hinted also that all members of the Taek'tharm immediate family had a tattoo.Whether of design similar or different, he did not say.Certainly it had some significance – because Matron Taek'tharm was visibly furious and in some way, horrified that it was missing."I could hear the evident relish with which she said that._

"You seem to know more about him than Zaknafein – next time I shall start an Investigation by asking you questions instead of wandering all over the place." I felt like a mage who'd spent _years perfecting a spell, only to find at completion that some rival had already accomplished the task._

"Tyfein _was rather handsome." Matron Ilith'vir smirked at my sudden comprehension."Strong, agile and imaginative, in more ways than some.Do you need elaboration?"_

"Actually that was _too much detail.I understand your point perfectly," I grimaced.Witnessing my mild discomfort, the Matron's smirk widened. "Llyrx did say you managed to gather more information than myself in such ways."_

"Surveillance and all that menial field work is not for a Matron, _Qu'el'velguk, and we should all do something we enjoy, no?"_

"You think I _enjoy surveillance? It is exceedingly __boring…"_

"And you are an exceedingly boring excuse for a drow.Behold the relationship? It is part of what I believe makes you valuable enough for me to willingly endure taking all your _iblith and refrain from killing you slowly and violently, so __do try not to persuade me otherwise." _

"Maybe I should sleep now."

"Good, I was wondering when I would have to encourage you to do so with sedatives."

When the door clicked shut, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, concentrating on Matron Ilith'vir's receding footsteps and the _marvelous silence pervading the room.Thinking would be better off left until a time when I was fully awake and not wishing I were blissfully dead.When I was just about to drop off, something teleported into the room – one moment all was still, in the other, something was flying above me, judging from the sound of grotesquely frantic flapping._

I opened my eyes into narrow, hostile slits."What do you want, Llyrx? Leave me alone."

_Matron Ilith'vir told me to talk to you.The imp settled easily on the chair, claws tapping on the stone, as usual, ignoring the hint._

"It appears I have only _guessed at the extent of her hatred," I said dryly._

_Huh.She just said that you might like to start talking to yourself, and I could act as a sounding board._

_"Not to mention, of course, acting as a spy to tell on me if I try to do anything stupid."_

_What did you expect? Maybe she was right after all – you do seem more stupid than before, if that's possible._

_I gave myself up to a controlled fate."Very well, let us get this over with so I can sleep."_

_Since you talk in your sleep that may be interesting too._

_"Want to see if I can still aim throwing knives from this position?"_

_You don't have any with you._

_"Would you like to bet on that?"_

_I'm staying here until you start saying something substantial._

_"After which you will leave?"_

_Let's see how substantial.Anyway, if you kill me Matron Ilith'vir would be very upset, yes? And unless you have suddenly developed stronger suicidal impulses than your norm, I doubt you wish to have a high priestess upset with you…_

_"Bossed around by an imp.Hmph.Very well, to say something that Matron Ilith'vir probably already knows, part of me is convinced that the investigations have not ended."_

_If that's the part of you which is suicidal, too curious, and too cocky, I'd say it's probably such a large 'part' of you that the other 'parts', namely intelligence, practicality and self-preservation may be so small as to be non-existent._

_"Insulted by an imp," I reached under my pillow and groped around until I found something cold and hard."Ah, I do appear to have a throwing knife…"_

_Do continue with your words of wisdom and sagacity.I'm bowled over by your um, force of mind, your eloquence, your stunning personality..._

_"Oh, shut up." I pulled the knife closer, just in case._

_Do you want me to ask the questions then? I promise they'd be short and comprehensible enough for even you to understand._

_"Go away."_

_I could also go tell the Matron that you were exceedingly uncooperative.Since you've – surprise, surprise – managed to annoy her yet again, her reaction would be very amusing._

_"Blackmailed by an imp.I really have reached new depths of being pathetic."_

_You already occupy…_

_"I'm __warning you, Llyrx."_

_Fine, fine, oh great and powerful Master.First question then…_

_"I feel as though I am being interrogated."_

_In a way, you are. _

_"What if I ask the questions?"_

_At heart, you are a control freak._

_"It's a characteristic of most drow males whose metaphorical backbones have not been totally and painfully removed.Does Matron Ilith'vir have any suspicions as to who stole the tattoo?"_

_From what I know she has no conclusions yet.I suspect Dyrr…all that alhoon__ blood must have been used for something._

_"You tested the blood at the scene already?"_

_There was no need to.I did not recognize how sensory challenged drow were until now.You did not detect that sharp, sour scent of alhoon__ fluids in the stall?_

_"I was overwhelmed by everything else…" The very memory of it was still tugging at the fringes of my mind._

_Ah, no matter.Some alhoon__…stuff…had been mixed into the blood forming the designs and stuff._

_"Hmm.So Dyrr is behind it all?"_

_What do you think?_

_"Seems very unlikely.Why would he come and ask Investigations?"_

_Your mind is definitely not around.He didn't ask Investigations, the alhoon__ leader did, and it would have been very suspicious…_

_"If Dyrr did not follow instructions, I know.__Vith, I wish I knew what that tattoo could do."_

_Find out, then._

_"How? I cannot go up to Dyrr and ask him."_

_Maybe look in the other murder sites._

_"Scenes-of-crime."_

_In Menzoberranzan, murder is hardly a crime.You should know that._

_"Somehow it refuses to register, and if this would lead up to a tasteless joke regarding my brain capacity, forget it.Several decades of you and Matron Ilith'vir, and I have heard them all.Very well, the other two were at…Donigarten and the Braeryn."_

_Donigarten's restricted territory even to Investigations and you know it, unless of course, you have forgotten it.And you're in no condition to go wandering in the Braeryn._

_"Lectured by an imp…"_

_I applaud your amazing grasp of the obvious._

_"When I recover, I believe I may have to seek out the Clawrift, then."_

_Why?_

_"Caomh is there.And I know no one else who has spent time in the Braeryn…"_

_Are you all right?_

_"Why this sudden question regarding my state of health?"_

_It's just that…you are proposing to enter a Bregan D'aerthe stronghold uninvited, seek out a crippled but still powerful drow and try to get him to go with you back into a place which probably holds for him a lot of bad memories._

"So in your reckoning I should start on this course of action before I truly recover and reconsider?"

_In my reckoning, I should fly out now and tell Matron Ilith'vir to strap you to the bed and sedate you, maybe with a blunt, heavy instrument.Then perhaps do a full brain transplant, or even better, just leave out a brain.You'd probably function much better._

_"Suddenly, a violent course of action seems so tempting." I drew the knife from under the pillow._

Llyrx squeaked and portalled away in a flash, leaving me to savor the peace and quiet.Placing the knife on the table, I considered walking to the Clawrift right this instant, before Matron Ilith'vir caught on to my plan…the rush of heady, blinding emotion still washed me along its course – currently all I desired was to get to the bottom of the matter.Call it suicidal curiosity if you will.

And, the characteristically vindictive, very 'drow' part of me wanted revenge.I hated being controlled and manipulated by something unknown and hence unreachable.I hated the idea that everything was out of my hands and already out of control.And above all, I hated being in House Ilith'vir Headquarters when ill.It was a mercy they hadn't started trying to force-feed me those revolting healing potions yet.I have no idea why adventurers bring potions along with them – having to bolt down such vile concoctions every time one got injured instead of getting healed by a priest is such an abhorrent idea.Well yes, one does get well, but one usually gives up whatever one ate recently along with it.

No, I have no idea why this fact isn't well known.Maybe adventurers get knocked about so much that they have a steel stomach and taste buds to go along with their iron constitutions.

Lecturing myself again – rambling is a sure sign that my brain is wandering away.Quickly I swung my feet gracefully off the bed to stand up and dress – or rather, that is how it _should have been.Actually, I twisted around to try and get to a sitting position, causing several other parts of myself to start clamoring for entry into the union of pain.Stayed in that position and swore quietly for a moment, tried to swing said feet off the bed, got entangled in the sheets, and somehow managed to bring myself, sheets and pillows all off the bed to land with a painful thump._

_They should, I observed to myself when it seemed as though a sledgehammer wasn't energetically pounding my body any longer, __not floor rooms with stone._

After a few more false starts I managed to stagger to my feet and somehow pile everything back on the bed, then collapse into the chair.Gasping like a fish on land, I wished for a moment that I were a cleric.

Perhaps the pain had dulled my mind, because the next thought I remembered entertaining was pertaining to the hell hound figurine.Since I felt like dying anyway, I might as well try to summon the creature.If it went berserk and tore out my throat, it'd be a relief, won't it?

My hands appeared to be trembling as I took the figurine, and I stared at them in astonishment.Fumbling with the warm carving for a moment, I held it tightly, then hesitantly called, "Halsshar."

Nothing happened – no dazzling light or wisps of smoke nor scent of sulfur and brimstone.Everything seemed set to be anticlimactic recently, but I had not even entertained the idea that the _alhoon leader was cheating me.It would explain why he gave it away this easily, though…_

"_Vithin alhoons," Cursing vehemently helped curb the disappointment, "__Oloth plynn dos!"I stood up, swaying gently.The surge of righteous fury seemed to have lent me some more temporary strength._

"They have already been taken by the darkness."

The voice behind me boomed, deep and hollow and husky as if its owner spoke in a private tunnel, a continuous growl of suppressed menace.It was definitely not a rather excitable being who also happened to be recovering from serious injury wanted to hear from behind.

I shut my eyes, refusing to turn around."The hell hound?"

"Unless you have developed a new way of clearing your throat, I do believe you spoke my name, drow."

"I thought hell hounds could not speak." Grimly my mouth seemed to be following its own script as my body froze.

"I thought drow elves had more mobility than that.Have you been nailed to the ground?"

"If I am to be eaten, I would rather _not watch."_

"Hmm.Whatever gave you the idea."The sound of claws clicking busily on stone, then something rough and hot and wet rasped across my left hand, heated sandpaper."Sorry to disappoint you, but it appears that drow still taste as bad as ever.Your race has certainly become more…insane."

"How so?" I could not help asking.

"It is my experience that only insane creatures summon up other creatures believing that the summoned would eat the summoner.Believe me, there are much cleaner ways to die, but if you truly wish it…"

Hurriedly I opened my eyes, and belatedly my nose registered an insistent scent of _dog in the atmosphere, sort of like many piled used socks with a generous helping of musk._

Dreamily I looked down – not very far though.The Greater hell hound's shoulder very nearly was level to mine – the massive head bared black teeth for a moment, red eyes glowing gently in the darkness.It shook its rust-red fur, creating more gusts of hell hound perfume.

Wide eyed, I gaped at the sheer size of the creature.Hell hounds were usually not any taller than the waist, but this…

"You are Halsshar?"

The creature snorted."Ah, yet another of the stupid ones.Do yourself a favor and give me to someone intelligent, will you?"

"Why is _everyone speaking to me this way today?" I exploded, experiencing a near-overwhelming impulse to go and sulk._

Halsshar looked me up and down, not very difficult since its gaze didn't have much to take in."Because you _are stupid?"_

"That's it.Back into your figurine."I waved the small thing in front of its face.It watched my hand mildly for a moment, and then as fast as a snake, took it into its mouth, sharp teeth gently but firmly applying pinpoints of pressure my wrist.Its expression seemed to suggest that any sudden movements would lead to an abrupt lack of a certain appendage, and further movements from that would lead to my never having to worry about being overweight again.

"Nowhr," it said indistinctly, "I gowhr bhack wherrn I wanthu, nothr wherrn yewr saehr.Aggreehrd?"

I swallowed."Agreed."

The pressure eased, and as respectfully as possible, I snatched back my hand.Other than the strong smell and the presence of canine saliva, it was thankfully intact.Halsshar sat down philosophically."This is a partnership," it began, as if nothing had happened, "Even if I would have preferred something…smarter.To be more distinct, I will come when you call, and aid you if I wish, but you will not give me orders.Do we have a…deal?"

I nodded dumbly, still traumatized by circumstances.

"I could hear you through the figurine," Halsshar continued, "To the Braeryn? A very intriguing prospect – and I have not walked the Prime Material Plane for several decades.The _alhoons did not like Abyssal auras much.Come, then, let us seek your 'guide'."_

"You would be conspicuous…"

"I am not a mere hell hound."It shook itself again."And I can prevent you from collapsing.Is there a place close by with the unwanted – beggars and such?"

Without thinking, I rubbed my eyes."The alley…"

"I can see it in your thoughts." Halsshar made no move, but suddenly the room seemed whisked away, and we stood in a dirty, cramped alley, my armor and weapons neatly beside me.Blinking away the habitual nausea, I leant heavily against a wall and concentrated on my misery.When I was sure I was not going to try and throw up, I looked around for Halsshar.

The Greater hell hound towered over three beggars a short distance away, so covered in grime and rags that I could not tell what was their age or gender.It took a few seconds for the stink of unwashed bodies to hit me, rank and gagging.Unconcerned, Halsshar began to intone in a sepulchral voice, words crawling with the sense of pure, cold evil, how the entire concept of that alignment could have spoken if it had a voice of its own – measured and calculating and malicious, detached...

I felt strength returning to me, refreshing me, the pain fleeing away.In astonishment I stretched myself, and felt none of the aches that had plagued me in my room.I felt young and full of energy and everything seemed possible, finding whatever it was in the Braeryn, enlisting Caomh's help… 

Discipline and centuries' worth of cynicism and practicality reeled me sharply to a stop."What did you do?" 

Halsshar looked smug, and did not reply.It did not need to.Of the beggars, only desiccated corpses remained, dry, crackling faded skin stretched tautly over bones.

Sickened, then disgusted at myself for feeling so, I strapped on my armor and concealed my weapons, trying to act as though I did not care, but I did, not for their lives, of course, but by the enormity of what Halsshar had done with such apparent ease.The conversion of souls to healing was an ability only open to those who were truly _evil.There was no other word with sufficient implications with which to describe them._

"You sound a lot like a recent acquaintance," I commented.

"Agrach Dyrr?"

"How…"

"I _did mention my ability to eavesdrop through the figurine.Come now, I've known __humans with better memories than you."_

"I simply cannot connect your voice with your appearance."

"Very well, if you wish me to be the great, slobbering, idiotic sort of beast it is hardly a feat…no? You _ilythiiri, always changing your minds."_

Before it could go any further, I abandoned that train of thought and headed off as steadily as I could in the direction of the Clawrift, feeling rightfully angry with Halsshar, myself, and the world.Was it something about _myself that seemed to attract all the jibes, the cold snickers at my expense? There was nothing, nothing wrong with me, perhaps maybe, maybe it was __Them.All of them, surrounding, surrounding me, taunting and laughing, laughing, their eyes bright and flecked with gleaming madness, lips curled back grotesquely to show deformed and yellowing teeth…_

I stopped so abruptly that I nearly overbalanced, and shut my eyes tightly, shaking my head, shaking the cobwebs of thought away._Where had that come from?_

"Halsshar?" I said uncertainly.No one else here for questions, and for a brief moment I regretted scaring Llyrx away.Only a moment, though.Halsshar was new, and I had to force myself to speak frankly.I did not care if its opinion of me sank further."What do you call a situation when one entertains uncharacteristic thoughts?"

Silence for a moment."Mind control." 

Sheer relief."You truly think so? Why then…"

"Either that or the beginnings of one of those truly interesting mental breakdowns."

Ah. 

"Why do you ask?"

"No matter." My stomach twisted into cold knots, and I wished I had not asked.I knew what drow did to the 'unstable'.I was sane, just still off balance by the result of the past-day's…events, which would be considered traumatizing at the very least, Lloth, all that blood, Tyfein's chest…no _no no.No memories, but why? What was wrong with me? I am __Ilythiiri, part of an ancient and evil race, and we __create such horrors.Not, __not horrors.Art.It is __art, pain and blood is but an instrument or a medium, and __oh Lloth, the __stench in the stall…_

I broke into a jog, as if trying to escape from my own tormented mind.

**

The Clawrift was quite a distance away from the alley, but I flatly refused to be carried by Halsshar.I was very sure he was fully capable of sudden foul play, and he was an uncomfortable ally to have – with each step I tried to block out the sounds of confident, soft padding behind me.

The edge of the Clawrift was abrupt, all of the sudden it seemed that the ground had been neatly sheared off by a knife, as though it were some sort of sponge cake.The lights of the city were some distance behind me, as this was one of the uncharacteristically unpopulated areas of Menzoberranzan.Squinting, I could barely make out the gray traces of the other side of the gap, over the blank nothingness, which was where the chasm was.

"Halsshar, do you know fire spells?"

"I can breathe fire.Did you not study in the Academy?"

"I studied _normal hell hounds, not 'greater' ones," I retorted defensively."Something small but visible, aim it towards the middle of the chasm and let it arc down?"_

Halsshar's reply was a sharp exhalation, and a misshapen bolt of orange fire that arced gracefully up and over the chasm like a deformed arrow, ragged at the edges, then just as gracefully began its downward, curved swoop into the darkness.I watched its descent until it became a spot, then nothing.

Counting silently, I reached the number in my mind carefully."Again, two arrows quickly following each other."

Halsshar obliged, and we watched the new bolts fade away into the darkness.

"A signal," I said, assuming that the hound was wondering about it.

"Very obviously, unless you like to do this sort of thing for fun."

Mildly affronted, I shut up, and waited.Had to collect Caomh somehow without having to speak with Jarlaxle.That drow could see too much for his own good, and I did not want him to guess at my current emotional state, _one of those truly interesting mental breakdowns, Lloth, no, __no, no._

Caught up in self-denial and quite a bit of self-pity I only noticed the incoming sentry when Halsshar sniffed loudly.Guiltily I flinched, then folded my arms.

The sentry, from what I could see in the vague spectrum between light vision from the far-off faerie fire and infrared vision, held two swords loosely but cautiously.Dressed in the obligatory chain mail, the emblem of Bregan D'aerthe was clear over his heart.No rank – a common soldier.I was not stupid enough to assume that just because I could only see one meant that only one had approached me.I could feel the others out there, and I was willing to bet that at least one was a mage.

Bregan D'aerthe was still small, but well defended.

"_Vendui' sargtlin," I said formally."I am here to see Caomh."_

The soldier looked me up and down, eyes lingering on the medallion of House Ilith'vir, glanced quickly at Halsshar, careful not to meet its eyes, then replied flatly, "_Vendui' ragar noamuth.You are not expected here."_

"I am here to see Caomh," I repeated flatly."I will seek him with Bregan D'aerthe's consent, or without.No doubt your leader would not like to suffer the wrath of House Ilith'vir." Implication that I was here on 'official' business and under my Matron's approval, suitably arrogant enough…

His resolve crumbled a little, but uncertainly, he held firm.Poor fellow, I'd just made his day a hell of a lot worse."Your name?"

"Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir, _Qu'el'velguk of House Ilith'vir.What is __your name?" Added the last bit as a mischievous afterthought, and had the pleasure of watching him blanch._

"I will speak to…"

"Caomh.Simply ask if he will see me – if he will not, I will go." Pointedly, I sat down on a rock and turned my face away with great deliberation, a cold dismissal, even as inside me my chest constricted with fear and excitement, and my clothes seemed stiflingly hot.Disjointed thoughts danced across my battered mind with as much grace as a drunken goblin.Halsshar seemed to play along, for it lay down next to me, the unnerving, intense red eyes following the poor sentry's every move.

"Stay here," he said finally, and loped off.The feeling that I was still being watched from the darkness persisted, as I knew it would, but I ignored it, instead reaching into my pockets for a whetstone and a knife and sharpening it, the gritty, slightly maddening sound somehow managing to soothe my nerves instead.I concentrated on it, refusing to let my mind venture back to dwell on the blood and Tyfein's face and the flies…no, _no._

My soul seemed to stand apart from me, objectively wondering if I was going mad.

"You seem to be," was Halsshar's comment, and I realized with a start that I had spoken out loud."Taking unnecessary risks is one of the first symptoms…"

I slapped my hands over my ears, and was surprised that Halsshar stopped.Slowly, disbelieving, I peered up at it, and realized it was watching me speculatively, calculating, as if I was some sort of new purchase from the Bazaar, and it was not sure whether it had been cheated.

"This is not unnecessary," I said, mildly surprised that I hadn't managed to cut one of my ears off with the sharpened knife.Before I did myself an injury, I replaced whetstone and knife in my clothing.

"Truly?Your Matron told you that it has been concluded.You have no need to wander to the Braeryn, let alone come to Bregan D'aerthe."

"I am curious," I said a little sullenly, and immediately was aware of the idiocy of my statement.

"Do try not to 'go crazy'.You would probably end up as one of those harmless psychos who gibber and hallucinate gently in locked rooms."

"Damn it, I am _not going mad!"_

"Am I interrupting something?"

The new speaker approached, accompanied by what looked like the harassed sentry.Lack of left arm – Caomh.Embarrassed by my outburst, I felt the gradual prickling in my cheeks as I flushed in mortification, then stood up."_Vendui' Caomh.May we speak in private?"_

"_Vendui' Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir.That may not be possible." Caomh turned his scarred face to look into the darkness pointedly, indicating the hidden sentries._

"Then it does not matter," I said indifferently.I would have preferred privacy, but I did understand Bregan D'aerthe."I need your help."

"Why?" Bluntly.

"I require a reliable guide through the Braeryn…and you seem more decent than Zaknafein."I grinned impishly.

"Whatever gives you _that impression."Caomh seemed amicable enough, strangely.Perhaps life in Bregan D'aerthe suited him._

"Several points offhand, most significant of which is the fact that you have not threatened to kill me.Now, can you help me?"

"Why should I?"

"Some…extra income?" I looked hopeful.

"How much?"

I named a price and managed not to wince.His expression did not change, but the sentry blinked.

"We will see.What do you seek in the Braeryn? Or do you just require an…educational tour through the landmarks?" Sardonic now, humor in his one eye.

"Do you happen to know about the _alhoon who underwent fatal brain surgery in the Braeryn?" Playing with long words on this matter seemed to make it a lot easier to think about._

"Should I?"

"No word games, please.I just recovered from an injury to the head."

Caomh did not reply, but looked casually from me to the silent Halsshar, then back again.He wore nearly the same outfit as the sentry, except that the cloak was more elaborate, the armor seemed better made, and Zaknafein's two gifts hung at his belt.He'd lost that slightly emancipated, alley cat set to his expression, and now even seemed to appear serene and aristocratic, if one ignored the ugly scar.I had to force myself not to stare at the empty sleeve.

Then he shrugged."Very well."  
"I realize that this…what? Oh.Thank you.Very much." I said lamely.I had prepared a 'I know you do not wish to come, but you would be a great help' speech, and there was now an insistent headache…I pinched the root of my nose, then straightened from the rock."Can you leave now?"

Caomh nodded."If any one inquires…" he faced the sentry.

"But…"

"I treasure my freedom," Caomh snapped.Ah.So it wasn't all perfect in the relationship between Caomh and the mercenary band? But I had expected this – Caomh was contrary. If life were an orchestra, Caomh would be one of those trying to change the piece currently being played, probably even for as trivial a reason as for the sake of showing off his individuality.

The sentry backed off, bowing, and Caomh smiled thinly, a hairline crack in a mask of icy calm."Will we be going?"

"I have heard of Bregan D'aerthe," Halsshar remarked suddenly."And from what I can discern, I doubt one of its members can just go adventuring without reason."

"Halsshar," I warned.

"The hound speaks truth," Caomh tugged at the brooch holding together the ends of his _piwafwi.The design was of some carnivorous surface bird whose name I could not place in my current frame of mind.Drow have always had some deep fascination with the Upworld.His fingers traced the long flight feathers, then nervously rubbed at the talons._

"Then why?" I certainly did not want any trouble between Bregan D'aerthe and House Ilith'vir, and…

Caomh turned his back and began walking towards the buildings, towards the Braeryn, and I followed, feeling as though I were tagging along instead of leading the 'expedition'.Halsshar did not seem to follow – I looked askance at it, and it yawned, showing its black teeth, then seemed to collapse into the darkness.The figurine in one of my pockets suddenly seemed warmer.

I frowned, and belatedly realized that Caomh was speaking."A time ago I defied the Matrons by loudly voicing my views, one of which baldly claimed that as long as _Ilythiiri suffered under Lloth's rule, so would we never truly progress and improve.Hers is chaos, but her chaos is unchanging.Little has actually become different and improved since Menzoberra, yes?"_

"Um…"

"But so as not to tire you with the mumbling of a decrepit drow…so then I dared to go against Matrons, and I have lived.It is easier in comparison to defy Jarlaxle.He is more…tolerant."

I doubted it.Jarlaxle was merely…patient, in my opinion.Like a hunter-cat that waits in ambush for passing rothe."Caomh, I think part of your problem is that you are anti-authority."

"Is it a problem?" An amused chuckle.

"It has been." Knowing it was rude as I walked next to him, I nodded towards the empty sleeve."And it will be."There was a limit to everything, even patience.

He did not seem to notice."I am my own master."

"Truly? What a life you must lead, then.All the decisions, no one to complain about, no one to blame mistakes on…"

"Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir, I have not even known you for long, and I can already conclude that you are the oddest individual I have met."

"I shall take that as a compliment." 

"_Asanque." Caomh said mockingly._

**

The Braeryn seemed unnaturally still. There seemed to be fewer of the unwanted around than usual…if at all.Caomh's thin brows nearly met at the center of his forehead as we wandered from one winding, stinking and _empty alley to another._

"The Presence is gone," he finally spoke, and I flinched violently as the silence was broken by his words.

"What Presence?" My words tumbled over each other in the rush of relief at the glimmer of some companionship.

"The Braeryn is haunted, did you not know?"

"Wraiths and such? We have no cleric…"

"Not by undead.By…I cannot put this in words.The stones…remember time…occurrences…events.All the killing and the suffering, the diseases and the savagery of those which have nothing to lose, the despair of those with nothing to gain." Caomh looked so grim that I bit back my cocky remark."You could say it is haunted by memories."

Dimly, I reached for an explanation."Is magic involved?"

"Perhaps.Normally, especially in certain areas, you can feel the buzzing in your mind as the stone shouts at you…sometimes if you look at an area you seem to remember some event which you _have never seen but that took place in it.The places where the Braeryn's dwarves and svirfneblin avoid, you soon learn to avoid as well."_

"And these are gone?"

"As I said."Caomh looked uncomfortable."I like it not."

Nothing I could say to that, except to change the subject."Where are we going?"

"Where you want to go."

"So you do know where it is?"

"I have heard of it, but did not visit it in person."

That seemed as much as he was willing to let on, and he kept quiet.Boots made no sound on the grimy cobbles, and I tried not to stare at the debris on the streets.The Braeryn was the only place in Menzoberranzan with strewn rock and other on roads normally kept clear.It was as though one woke up one day to find all the faerie fire in the city gone – that sort of unnerving effect.

The alleys were hemmed in by crumbling, lichen-cloaked walls that broke in part to reveal spaces, or in some cases, more walls, a veritably decomposing maze.Still no occupants seemed to be around, the last being a heap that could have mistaken for a pile of rags except for the unstable breathing several alleys ago.

Caomh's one hand was firmly on one of the black swords' hilt, unconsciously, his nerves, like mind, wound tight in the heavy, oppressive silence that seemed to leave the ears ringing.I managed to tear my eyes off the ground and look up to stretch my neck.

After a short while, I heard my voice say distantly, "Caomh…"

"What?"

"Is that supposed to be there?"

An illusion (or at least I hoped it was an illusion) of a cobra, black scales lined with flashes of purple and red, body-length tongue flickering in and out of its maw, gold eyes with knife-slits of obsidian concentrating on something close to it, reared out over the walls some distance (I hoped again) away.I wondered how I had missed it.

"I did not see that when we came in," Caomh sounded curiously unafraid, or perhaps even more of my brain had shut down due to shock.He referred to the Braeryn as though it was another realm, I noted inconsequentially, mind overwhelmed by the sight.

"Perhaps we could only see it when we did." Numbly I had the unpleasant sensation of being led around by the nose again, and felt…_angry.Good.When I was angry everything was much simpler – the world could be divided into those who pissed me off and those who did not._

"Do you want to go…closer?"

"No," I said immediately, overriding my curiosity for once."Let's get out of here.Right now."

Relief and disappointment warred on Caomh's scarred countenance, then relief won."Right," he echoed, and we hastily retraced our steps.Attempted to.

The air seemed to roar; though there was no sound.For a brief moment, in an ironically orderly manner, images blurred in my mind, so intense that my eyes saw only those and not my immediate surroundings, parts of what Caomh called the Presence – the ravaged sick, the tortured cripples, some of it indescribable, despair, _despair, hopelessness, shouting and wailing, but my ears heard nothing.Brief – because my brain managed to fail-safe and pull me into oblivion before I went mad._

**

When I woke and opened my eyes sluggishly, I wished that I had not.

Another part of the Braeryn? Walls pulled down, rubble neatly piled in a large circle at the outskirts of…

I had no idea there were so many ways to kill creatures.

Some were, incredibly, still alive.

I had no idea that even in such a small body as that of a svirfneblin, there was so much _blood, bright and crimson and __reeking, coppery, so __much…_

Something deep inside me seemed to shatter into a million fragments, but there was no pain, and the last I saw was…

---

Translations and References:

_Malla Ilharess: Honored Matron_

_Oloth plynn dos: Darkness take you_


	4. Part 4

Part 4

Part 4

Echoing strains of music drifted down the uncomfortably mage-lit, wide stone corridor between the cells, the stone carved to arc gracefully over the head, semicircular, a geometrical beauty in the construction of a structure to the worship of pain and despair.Jarlaxle paused for a while at the floor-to-ceiling, sturdy adamantite gates that marked the only entrance or exit to the Bregan D'aerthe dungeons, not for any reason that his mind could make out._Perhaps, he thought mildly, __I'm developing a dramatic streak._

The air of the dungeon could seem oppressively still, and was quite a few degrees cooler than the normal Underdark temperature.One prisoner said before…what was it? Something witty, but unimportant, about freezing and bitterness – Jarlaxle dismissed the tendril of thought that was reaching tentatively into the expanse of his mind in search for the detail.He enjoyed the temperature – Jarlaxle liked the cold better than warmth – perhaps because it reminded him that he was alive, as the skin tingled and the tiny hairs rose in lazy attention.At times, after one of those sessions with Matron Baenre, he needed to reassure himself of that fact.

The guard at his side…_Mi'erl, was it? Hesitated, watching his leader with peripheral vision so as not to seem impolite with a direct stare.It would have been too rude as well to continue if Jarlaxle were to stop.Too rude to seek the reason as to his hesitation.And Jarlaxle did not like those of his minions without…manners, he had put it mildly; unremarkably, those he 'did not like' often suffered 'accidents' or got posted to far and harsh places.Nevertheless the soldiers allowed him his quirks, for what he was made up for all of them several times over._

Jarlaxle pulled down the brim of his hat a fraction against the light, and then continued walking in an elf's erect, dancer-like grace, cat-like and making not a sound, throwing up distorted, tortured shadows in the brightness against the polished walls.The light was to make the atmosphere slightly more uncomfortable for prisoners...it distracted most, and irritated others.Also, if they ever tried to escape, especially those held long enough – they would have enough on their metaphorical plates trying to adjust back to the pitch darkness outside the dungeon, making it easier to recapture or kill them.

He gave no indication that he heard the distant screams, or if he did, his face showed neither disgust, pleasure nor irritation.This section of the dungeon was for those to be detained 'temporarily', and was quite often empty – on the other hand, Bregan D'aerthe trainees were never short of target practice.

The dungeon was clean and dry wherever it could be, and it smelled of stale air, though not unpleasantly so.Almost like an old storeroom, and some cells could be comfortable, if Jarlaxle willed it to, because sometimes it was used, as in this circumstance, to keep dangerous 'guests'.

As Jarlaxle allowed the guard to lead him to his destination – even if he was fully capable of finding his way there himself (he had helped to design the place, after all) but he liked the guards to enjoy the idea that they knew something more than he did – he recalled the pertinent information.Like an efficient machine, he retrieved the facts in a fraction of a second.

_The 'guest' had reappeared after heading to the Braeryn with the new acquisition at…Jarlaxle decided that the time was unimportant, and simply carried on…__carrying him, injuries to the acquisition on remaining arm and chest.Stopped and challenged by sentries, killed two with quote lightning ease__ unquote.Mages somehow never thought of using magic, note point._

_Something to his right snarled and flung itself against the bars.Jarlaxle saw features twisted by the lycanthrope disease, once handsome elven features marred with patches of dirty fur and a too-large, froth-covered mouth, muscles twitching uncontrollably.Teeth as yellowed as that of a smoker's fingernails had lengthened, especially the canines, and its breath stank of rotting meat.He ignored the repellent remnant of what had been a proud drow, but the guard flinched reflexively, then glanced furtively and guiltily to see if Jarlaxle had noticed.The mercenary pretended not to observe that brief slip as well._

_Gave himself up for quote safekeeping__ unquote, note point.No trouble until inside cell, then lapse of security involving manacles, casualties one lieutenant one soldier, soldier fatality, lieutenant critical condition._

_That had been surprising.Jarlaxle knew this case intrigued him – there were so many points that he could not come up with fitting theories for, and that irked him._

_Requested for amenities afterward: musical instrument, paper, quills, ink.All metal possible removed from cell – not yet fed, but instructions not to give him any utensils._

They reached another gate, at which the guard carefully arranged the movable pattern of seemingly identical, tiny tiles of blue-green opal at eye-level.The only hint that the action had achieved anything the brief, sudden outline of white light between the tiles, then the gates swung open steadily.The maximum-security area.

The guards inside stood to attention guiltily, and if Jarlaxle noticed the hastily hidden cards and tokens, he gave no indication.Nodding to each of them, he continued to allow himself to be led past the cells, passing another occupant, which seemed to spend most of his time asleep, and the rest of it trying to disembowel something.

The music was louder now, yet still pleasant, none of the eerie reverberation it had down the previous corridors, dreamy and slow, the chords simple, but the tune complex, most unlike the current environment of starkly geometrical stone.

Jarlaxle stopped outside his destination, the corridor twisting enough such that he could no longer see the guards at the entrance.The occupant continued playing one of those surface instruments that had been smuggled in and improved in the city decades ago – called a _harpsichord, Jarlaxle believed.The drow had refined the instrument, such that the volume of a note could be controlled with how heavily one pressed on the keys, or suchlike – he did not need such trivial information, so he usually made no effort to investigate.Now he waited politely for the occupant to start a conversation, if he would, taking the time to observe and appreciate the music._

Male drow in his prime, slender and handsome as so many hundreds more were.Wearing robes with no pockets to store weapons in.Thin, aristocratic fingers dexterous and expertly teasing out the music with some deep understanding of the instrument even if it had only arrived last Narbondel cycle.Eyes blank, but only because of the concentration required and not due to some disorder.The passion was evident as he swayed along to the rhythm, caught up by the composition.

The cell itself reeked of security.The adamantite bars nearest to Jarlaxle were enchanted, again floor-to-ceiling, wall to wall except for the adamantite door with the flap over the small platform that also extended into the cell a little, for food and any other small items.Jarlaxle had considered wards, but it could have been a waste of magic – the drow had not shown any ability in magic as yet, and if Jarlaxle's theory was correct, that the drow had some sort of new, unknown power, conventional wards would probably not work.

Other than the instrument, the cell had the barest of facilities – bed, privy, table, chair, all bolted to the ground.No mirror – fragments would be deadly if the occupant thought to break it for weapons.Several drow, including a lieutenant, had scrupulously examined the cell for potential weapons before deeming it safe.

The drow finished the piece, and without turning around, spoke."_Vendui' Jarlaxle.I hope you will forgive me if I do not rise."_

"_Vendui' Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir.I hope you will forgive me if I take a seat," Jarlaxle accepted the chair the sentry had brought for him, then waved him away.When they were relatively alone, the drow turned his face to the mercenary leader.His eyes were both more than and less than sharp – Jarlaxle could see the cold, unnerving intelligence behind them, but there was no passion, no apparent life, just deceivingly calm and languid as the dangerous monster-infested Donigarten Lake's surface._

"My name is not Ti'erlfein."

"Oh? Then what is your name?" 

"I have none.Names tend to bind one to certain…views or stereotypes.Do you know what Jarlaxle means?" His gaze was oddly intense, pupils small due to the light.Jarlaxle shaded his own gaze with the brim of his hat, but without any indication of self-consciousness toward performing that gesture normally associated with discomfort.

"And if I do?" Jarlaxle leant back in his seat, glad that his cloak cushioned him from the hard back.He had no time and no inclination to visit masseurs, or body-strokers, as they were alternatively and popularly called in Menzoberranzan, and would not profit from being stiff-backed for the rest of the day – he made a note to procure more cushioned chairs. 

The drow ignored the question."Did you play with jarlaxles when you were young, I wonder?" Voice soft and pleasant, but probing."Somehow I doubt it, yes? Third son of the only truly 'noble' family."

Jarlaxle did not seem surprised that the drow knew something that he had taken pains to conceal, but the mercenary did not start his own questioning, preferring to fence a little more."Investigations' command of information is far-reaching."

"Do you know what is the connotation of jarlaxles? Very fitting…you are a dead drow, Jarlaxle.As long as you stay in Menzoberranzan, or anywhere with _Ilythiiri – you have not as yet noticed it, perhaps."_

"Is that a threat?" The leader looked bored.Perhaps this wasn't as entertaining as he'd thought it would be, if the drow only knew how to threaten.He'd seen hundreds like that, and that sort never interested him.

"Merely some advice, since I am feeling generous.Third sons are dead sons.That is Lloth's way.It may do you some good to remember that in front of her clergy, especially the female ones."

"Religious now?"

"Ah, and you make a mistake.Never ask questions that you know the answer to, Jarlaxle.You waste my time."

Jarlaxle was unruffled."Ti'erlfein.I have some questions."

"I am not Ti'erlfein.Ti'erlfein is, sadly, unavailable for questioning.He is…dead? No, the word is not fitting._Dormant, then."_

"Where is he?"

The drow tilted his head and tapped it, liquid, slow grace.Jarlaxle was quietly reminded of a certain stubborn weapon master when said master was in a certain exasperating mood."In here."

"Then he is part of you?"

"As a sword would be a part of a warrior."

"Some warriors do not use swords." 

"Precisely."

Jarlaxle's lip curled slightly."Your sword against the world?"

"Very poetic, but true in a sense." His fingers moved, producing a sudden tumbling, discordant melody.

"In what manner?"

The chords were now monotonous and repetitive, as if reflecting his tone."I'm not a minion for you to question and expect answers from at every time.I think a trade is now in order.Books from you for information from me."

"Spells do not work here, so spellbooks and grimoires..." 

"Any books, it does not matter.Information for information."

Jarlaxle appeared to consider this."Why?"

"Do not waste my time."The music ended off with a trill, seemingly unfinished.

Jarlaxle shook off the irritation.Not-Ti'erlfein liked information – that was fine by him…perhaps it explained why he worked as he did, and Jarlaxle needed some time to turn the conversation over in his mind and tease out hidden meanings, in any case.He rose from his chair, the scrape of the legs against the rough stone ground jarring in the still air. "Acquiring the books will take time."

"I can wait." The drow turned back to the instrument, contemplating the keys as his aristocratic fingers stroked them in a slow, light caress, and his ensuing silence as he ignored Jarlaxle seemed only enhanced by the quiet, yearning music.

**

When Jarlaxle returned the drow was folding a small square of paper carefully with nimble fingers.Again, he gave no indication of noticing the mercenary's presence until he had finished whatever he was doing – he completed the paper craft.It was of a pyramidal shape made of four smaller pyramids, for four fingers.As he moved two fingers up and down in tandem, the pyramid seemed to turn into a mouth that worked its jaw up and down.

Jarlaxle held a volume that he had scanned through himself and found harmless.It was on rothe behavior.He pushed it through the flap for food, which clicked shut after he withdrew his hand with a mechanical, oiled sound.

Not-Ti'erlfein got up from the bed and approached unhurriedly, picking up the book and pushing something else through the flap.Jarlaxle waited with feline patience till the drow moved away to reseat himself at the harpsichord.Only then did he look down at the 'gift'.It never hurt to be cautious.

It was a paper folding of a jarlaxle, exquisitely done, every angle sharp and perfect.The mercenary looked up for an explanation as he carefully picked it up between thumb and forefinger.

"The wings move if you touch the head." 

"A hidden message there?"

"None but that which your mind might come up with."

Jarlaxle put it into a pocket in his trousers and sat down carefully, loathe to squash his paper namesake."The book is satisfactory?"

The drow nodded perfunctorily, placing it noiselessly on the table in the cell, and continued to play with his paper mouth.It gaped open and mimed speech."Ask your questions.You may ask six."

"Six?"

"Yes.That was your first question."

"_Asanque, then my second question is…what did you do to the sentry mages? The report said they did not consider using spells against you." Jarlaxle scrupulously added that detail as he crafted the question – a simple __Are you psychic would only waste one of the six questions if the answer was 'no'.He refused to get angry – it was a point of pride that he had never done so in the company of others.Losing one's temper, Jarlaxle believed, was simply a waste of energy and breath, and worse, it made one reckless._

"I persuaded them not to use spells."

"How? State this 'power', and how it works." Jarlaxle thought it safe to make an assumption that it was supernatural, and saw it hit its mark.

The drow merely looked amused, and Jarlaxle felt much the same way – that question sounded remarkably in the style of certain examination papers he had taken before when he had been in Melee-Magthere."There is no name to this power, if it even is one.It appears to be a higher version of something you yourself have in quantity...even quality.It works by amplifying…we could basically call them _emotions…in any feeling creature, and by being able to understand what drives a creature at any point – it allows for a certain amount of prediction and manipulation.In the case of the mages, just indecision and inactivity."_

Jarlaxle, absorbing this, spoke without thinking when his mind decided on a stunning answer, and regretted it instantly after he voiced it."Empathy?"

"Yes.That was your fourth question." The paper mouth worked mechanically.

Annoyed at himself but entertaining the idea that part of this 'Empathy' had just been used on him, Jarlaxle remained outwardly calm."Why did you give yourself up to the 'safe keeping' of Bregan D'aerthe?"

"I needed a place to think that I could not easily get out of and hence would not be tempted to get out of."

"Yet you killed some of my soldiers, hardly a gesture of good will.A warning then, I would think.Ti'erlfein, by all reports, did not have half of your ability with weaponry.Why did you bring Caomh back?"

"The answer to your sixth question – because I liked him as you do.You may bring a book again next cycle.And do tell those fool guards of yours at the entrance not to bother me any longer with insults or accusations, or you might find Bregan D'aerthe in sudden need of more minions with which to harass guests." 

With that final, thinly veiled threat, the drow turned his head away, appearing to stare blankly at the active paper mouth.

**

In his office, he gently pulled on the head of the jarlaxle.The wings flapped stiffly, as if the creature was waking up leisurely from a long hibernation.He contemplated this simple action-reaction, giving his eyes and hands something to do while his mind worked.

_I am not Ti'erlfein.Either a dramatic statement, or as he suspected, truth.The drow currently locked up in the dungeon certainly did not resemble Ti'erlfein – physically, yes, but there was always something around each individual that Jarlaxle liked to call an 'aura' which was very different._

Ti'erlfein, when he had met the _ragar noamuth in Melee Magthere, seemed harmless and of average intelligence, even with his known skill with throwing knives and daggers.The drow in the dungeon was certainly not harmless, which he had already amply demonstrated to the tune of becoming the direct cause of Bregan D'aerthe casualties with such careless ease.And he was just as unmistakably brilliant at the very least – with the ease by which he had picked up how to play that harpsichord just being one of the examples Jarlaxle cared to draw up._

Something about not-Ti'erlfein fascinated Jarlaxle – perhaps it was the obvious power, perhaps the intellect, perhaps just the surreal quality of the atmosphere which he seemed to create around him.The supercilious, higher-than-thou manner Jarlaxle could tolerate – Lloth knew he had endured worse when he was very young.It was also easier to manipulate those with this sort of attitude.But power…power was something that mesmerized Jarlaxle in all its myriad forms. 

_As a sword would be a part of a warrior.Why would the drow need such a…mask against the 'world'? Other than that females normally didn't like males with a greater degree of intelligence…and with otherworldly powers not of Lloth's make.This was the first case of 'empathy' that Jarlaxle had heard of, and immediately he wondered if the drow was even drow.It was not difficult to shapeshift, for certain creatures._

But to go to such elaborate risks by pretending to be Ti'erlfein for so many years? And why stop the pretense by turning into yet another drow, if this was the case? Something he wanted in Menzoberranzan? Then why male, and why the same face as Ti'erlfein's? No, Jarlaxle was sure that he was _Ilythiiri and not a shapeshifter though certainly a strange one._

Sentries had mentioned Ti'erlfein, before encountering Caomh, shouting something about him not going mad.If Ti'erlfein was a mask, then he was certainly cracking by then – _why, Jarlaxle logically connected to something to do with the Tyfein business, which had apparently landed Ti'erlfein in bed for a cycle or so._

The concept of a power that could manipulate emotions was staggering.Jarlaxle made a mental note to find a counter to add to his arsenal of defensive magic, and practical as always, wondered what it would take to get the drow to work for him, if so attractive an idea was even applicable.The drow was too dangerous, and one day Jarlaxle might just have to make certain terminal arrangements.

Was his answer toward Jarlaxle's inquiry as to why he was using Bregan D'aerthe truth? Jarlaxle had no doubt that this drow was _using the organization, and he disliked that fact intensely, especially since he had yet to see any immediate profit from it.Someplace to think? Someplace he could not __get out of easily? Jarlaxle snorted derisively to himself.He would have to do some investigations of his own._

A respectful knock on the door."Come in," he drawled, dropping the jarlaxle into a drawer for safekeeping.

A guard came in…Jarlaxle casually recalled the name, _Ylusr…and stood to attention."Caomh has calmed, sir."_

"Awake?"

"His eyes are open, but other than that, no sir."

This sounded intriguing.

**

The notes finally careened to a stop, and Jarlaxle opened his eyes.Calm as ever, the drow sat cross-legged on the harpsichord chair, cradling the newest book in his arms as if it were brittle, heartstoppingly expensive lycier crystal.

The mercenary wondered idly, not for the first time, as he patiently waited for not-Ti'erlfein to 'notice' him, why payment was in books.Was he so driven by this insatiable thirst for knowledge? Perhaps he would be interesting after all, even if nothing practical could be gleaned from this situation – Jarlaxle had never heard of anyone whose primary driving force was curiosity and not greed or desire like so many other drow, including Jarlaxle himself.

"Six questions," the drow glanced up finally.His voice was cool and curt, as if Jarlaxle were the one incarcerated and not he.

"First one: what exactly happened in the Braeryn?" Jarlaxle had heard reports of those spies stationed on the periphery, but those who had, on orders or otherwise, ventured into the Braeryn never came out again.

"Are you familiar with the concept of blood-rituals?"

_Ah, familiar ground. "How could I not, when I live in a city founded with them."_

"I am not sure on all points," the drow stated cautiously.Jarlaxle felt surprised – usually drow tried to twist their way out of speaking outright truth, even when required to, and this certainly extended (especially, in fact) to areas in which they were unfamiliar.Something to do with not showing ignorance, but Jarlaxle didn't always claim to understand the drow psyche.

"From what both Ti'erlfein and myself could see – there was some evidence of a blood-ritual taking place, on a massive scale.Did your spies see some immense snake rearing out of the Braeryn…no? Then it appears one has to enter it first.Dyrr's misguided attempts to graft the snake tattoo into his arm could have backfired, releasing the creature, which was not meant to exist in a corporeal form in this Plane.That would explain why it was apparently trying to build up substance with so much…sacrifice."

Jarlaxle was silent for a moment as he assimilated the information.Dyrr? Tattoo? Snake? It was extremely likely that this had something to do with Ti'erlfein's investigation regarding the disappearance of Tyfein, as coincidence could only stretch so far.

"Perhaps it would be easier if you simply told me about what Ti'erlfein found about Tyfein and how it connects to the…current state of the Braeryn."

"That was two questions, Jarlaxle, which makes that last the third." 

Jarlaxle listened as not-Ti'erlfein updated him, rather complacently as if all the astonishing events were commonplace, on the issues, and began to draw his own conclusions automatically.It helped to be as far ahead as possible on occasion. 

Dyrr was not…inanimate, nor was he in the Braeryn at the moment.Jarlaxle knew this well – he had, some hues of Narbondel ago, come from the lichdrow's House after negotiations on an unrelated service, and the mercenary remembered that stooped, gnarled figure crouching respectfully and protectively as always near the Matron's throne.So all that magic – Jarlaxle felt a familiar greed rising in him – all that _power was loose in the Braeryn.Should he sell the information to Taek'tharm, or would that House already be aware of that fact? Most probably so.Then, should he make an effort towards quelling the menace? But if it was so powerful, perhaps he should just leave an anonymous warning in the Academy…_

"What happened to Caomh?" Jarlaxle finally asked.The ex-Master of Melee Magthere was currently still in a state of catatonic shock, though now he seemed slightly more conscious than before.It was unnerving – Caomh was an old drow, and definitely not the nervous sort.Jarlaxle wasn't sure he wanted to know what happened to Caomh that could reduce him to such a pitiful state.

"I do not know everything that happened.Ti'erlfein lost consciousness during most of…whatever happened.Just that when I woke up, Caomh was unmoving but alive and wounded, so I thought it best to take him and retreat.The snake was…occupied with others and had thought us dead, perhaps.Underestimated drow."

"Caomh was suffering from a loss of blood when you…delivered him to Bregan D'aerthe.Why not yourself?"

"Ti'erlfein was lucky.He had a hellhound that got an illusion on him when the snake shifted its attention in his direction."The drow did not need to ask Jarlaxle where the figurine was – it was safely under guard in a vault, having burned some mages to death when they had attempted to summon whatever had been inside.

Sixth question now."Would your sister Matron Ilith'vir happen to know why you would rather put yourself in Bregan D'aerthe custody than to go back to the House, I wonder?"

A direct hit, and the sides of the elf's mouth twitched upwards for an instant, as if in a rueful smile, but he did not reply – which gave Jarlaxle all the answer he needed.The drow seemed to understand this as well, for he turned back to the harpsichord as he usually did when a discussion was palpably over.

**

Jarlaxle made arrangements to speak with the Matron Ilith'vir when he had returned to his office, and he was pleasantly surprised when she accepted the invitation toward a free exchange of information.Ilith'vir had told him once that if she ever saw him again he would find himself impaled and missing his limbs at the tip of Narbondel before he could 'spout' his 'oily greetings', Baenre-alliance or no.

Hmm.In that light, he had better make a few other arrangements.He doubted the Matron would actually try and assassinate him, but he did not want to make so horrific a mistake as underestimating a drow female.

After all, he had no wish to wake up small, furry, and with eight legs.

**

Jarlaxle waited for Matron Ilith'vir at one of the more well-known meeting places in the innumerable tunnels on the outskirts of the city cavern – called The Fallen Stalactites for all those large, stake-like structures embedded in the ground at uneven intervals, the ends that were once joined to the ceiling sharp planes, as if the stone had been lopped off neatly.The reason as to why this had happened wasn't very clear, but the thinness of the structures didn't allow for effective ambushing.Besides, this area was, though unspoken agreement, 'neutral ground'.No one killed any other here (but of course, in the adjoining tunnels outside, murders were as common as in the rest of the city).

The mercenary leaned against a particularly large fallen stalactite and pretended he didn't hear Matron Ilith'vir's approach.If he let her win a battle by simulating surprise when she addressed him, maybe she'd deign to let him win another one later…

"You can stop ignoring me now, Jarlaxle." Her amused voice undermined his plan perfectly.Although he wouldn't admit it to anyone, Jarlaxle liked sparring with the sharp-witted Matron, and he had to hide a grin as he turned around.The dainty, normally ostensibly dressed Matron wore a dark-colored if thin cowl and a cape that covered her robes, and she raised the hood with one delicate hand.No apparent escort, no apparent weapons.

"I wasn't ignoring you, _elamshinus uss." Jarlaxle protested, bowing elaborately._

"Now you sound like Ti'erlfein.How is he, by the way?" 

Jarlaxle sighed inwardly.Was there no end to the distance with which House Ilith'vir could reach?

"And you need not pull such a face.The breach in your security wouldn't be _too big for you to repair." She smiled wickedly."You may have to scold a few, kill a few, then we can start all over again."_

"Who did you seduce this time, temptress?" He asked whimsically.Meetings between them usually 'degenerated' into name-calling, and he decided to start first this time.It was amusing, if anything, this competition to see who would annoy which one first."A lieutenant?"

"I'd tell you if you pay me, fang-less viper," The Matron shot back."But I doubt you can afford it."

"Not even with your…Qu'el'velguk as the bargaining chip?" Jarlaxle decided to drop the insults.They were beginning to become boring in comparison with all the other issues they could argue about.

"If he's gone back to claiming he's not Ti'erlfein, as far as I am concerned, you can keep him," Matron Ilith'vir shrugged.The cape fell back a little, baring part of her robes, and she folded those slender arms under her breasts, perhaps to draw attention to them.If that was her plan, it was working.Jarlaxle tried to focus on Ti'erlfein, and the Matron Ilith'vir, curse her pretty face, smirked at him as she noticed what he was attempting to do.

"Has he done this before, then?"

"Obviously.You males – is even the obvious too difficult to perceive?"

"Would telling me why be too much for you, or would you like to talk in circles for a few hues of Narbondel first?" Parry, parry, and_ thrust._

"He's revealed his 'Empathy' already, I believe?" The Matron pretended to study her long, painted fingernails.Jarlaxle pulled his mind away from contemplating what those nails could do to a back when…Ti'erlfein.Think of _Ti'erlfein._

"_Xas, and he seems to have become very skilled with his weapons."The quiet question as to why the Matron did not want Ti'erlfein back in the House when he had gained such value did not pass over her head, but she answered obscurity with obscurity._

"Did he tell you what would happen if two Empaths happened to come into close contact with each other?"

Jarlaxle blinked."You have this power as well?"

She sighed deeply and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling of the cavern for patience.Jarlaxle didn't bother trying to think of a snappy riposte, but struggled to come to terms with this revelation.

"What would happen?" The mercenary leader was all too aware that he sounded like a student asking questions of a Master.

"Empaths influence the emotions of all those around them even when they're not trying to – molding those to see them in a certain light.Even when my _dear brother was pretending to be a pathetic drow called Ti'erlfein.Not many seemed to realize that the overwhelming impression of harmlessness did not exactly fit with Ti'erlfein's obvious intelligence, weaponry skills and race.And Empaths do not like their own emotions being manipulated, since we can sense it."_

Now, that would explain the reports of Ti'erlfein not spending a lot of time in his House, and communicating with his Matron mostly by discs.

"Two full Empaths, if put together, would eventually drive each other crazy.The persona of Ti'erlfein prevented that – as long as he _was the pathetic drow assassin, the gift didn't leak out as much as it would.Now I'm getting thirsty, so it's your turn to answer questions.What exactly happened in the Braeryn to destroy the persona of Ti'erlfein?"_

Jarlaxle still had one question – why not-Ti'erlfein would even choose to live with Ilith'vir, but he supposed that perhaps it was better than living with his Matron Mother.And as to why he decided to hide in Bregan D'aerthe…perhaps Ilith'vir was stronger than he was in 'Empathy'.Now that was disturbing.And it would explain _why he felt such lust for Ilith'vir now even if on all prior occasions he had only admired that pretty face.Why she wanted him to feel that now he could not seem to pinpoint._

As it was he shifted uncomfortably, and she smirked again, but he managed to answer with his usual steady voice as he told her what Ti'erlfein had said.Much later he would realize that, distracted in such a way, he never thought of concealing some parts of the truth, or talking in circles.

"Interesting," was her only comment, and she tapped her chin thoughtfully."You have informed the Academy anonymously...so it should cease to be a threat."Jarlaxle wished that she wouldn't draw so much attention to how much she knew of Bregan D'aerthe machinations – he hadn't told her that response to the news.

"About Ti'erlfein…" Jarlaxle began.

"Keep him if you wish.When he decides to build another persona, do tell him to make it more stable and less of a wimp." Very dry.

"What makes you think I would keep him, _elamshinus uss?" He grinned at her raised eyebrow._

"Why, I thought all you mercenaries positively marinated with avarice."

"And caution," Jarlaxle pointed out."If this 'Empathy' is as potent as I believe it is – then he is a threat."

"Well," she swayed closer, and slid a perfectly formed hand up his chest, "If you find yourself out of a job, you know where to look for me.I'd be happy to _have you."_

Jarlaxle chuckled, keeping the growing desire from showing in his voice."I doubt it would come to that."

Her eyes gleamed."Speaking of coming…"

**

"You met with Matron Ilith'vir?" A statement more than a question.The drow didn't even look at him.

"You could say that.And she does not seem particularly interested in…"

"Having me back, I know.And I wish to meditate for a while, so I cannot say I am devastated by the news."

"You are free to go."

"Ever since I had been incarcerated here, I have been," the drow said serenely.

"If you want to continue eating my food, and sleeping in my headquarters, then you'd have to pay me something," Jarlaxle retorted.

"Employment?" He looked bored."If I did not want to move from here you could hardly force me to."

"If I were to brick up the entrance to this area…"

"You need workers to lay the bricks and foundation."

"I have mages who can, I'm afraid, do it from some distance away."

The mercenary didn't bother to hide his smile at the fleeting look of uncertainty on the drow's face.He was actually gambling – he didn't have enough mages for that, but he had enough for a shield equivalent.Starving not-Ti'erlfein to a slow death would be a waste, but better that than allowing for the possibility of him turning into a threat.

The drow opened the new book to the last page, and glanced ostensibly at it."Six questions."He shut the book, and put it on the table with the others.

Jarlaxle's expression kept neutral, but he felt surprised.Was it foolhardiness that caused him to ignore the blatant warning?Or was he truly confident of his chances of surviving starvation?

"How much of a fool are you?" Jarlaxle inquired with a solicitous tone, as if asking for his state of health.

Ti'erlfein chuckled."As much as you are, to sleep with Matron Ilith'vir.Would you happen to know what she took from you?"

Jarlaxle's smile was rueful."Would I."

"Would you like me to tell you, then?"

"I think I'd rather _not know." The drow shared in his snorted, wry laughter."Would you like to work for me?"_

"I could ask you the same question." He touched a key on the harpsichord, a high note, questioning and quivering in the still air.

"I doubt you can afford it."Throwing back the Matron's words on her Qu'el'velguk lent a pleasant symmetry to the situation.

"I doubt you can afford me either." The drow retorted amiably.

"Do you have a price?" Jarlaxle idly twisted his wrist, experimenting on the weight of the new dagger he had fitted some time ago.The hilt dug into his skin and pushed against the cloth of his sleeve so as to reveal is presence for the observant, and he made a note to get another dagger, perhaps hilt-less.The sheath was good, though…

"Doesn't everyone? The world's a large market for all to be bought and sold.Everything has a price."

"As an advisor, then? Not one of my 'minions'." Jarlaxle leaned back in the chair.

"And if I refused? You'd brick me up?" the drow smirked.He was right in his assumption, Jarlaxle realized, that the mercenary would never actually do that.Maybe he was being influenced.

"What would defend against empathy?" An impudent question, and he'd sidestepped the drow's question.

"Another empath, of course, but I doubt you'd be able to persuade Matron Ilith'vir to be your bodyguard."

"She'd have been happier born as an 'escort' for certain branches in Elstearn's offices, would she not?"

"She would never admit that to you," the drow agreed affably, then added just as conscientiously, "That was your sixth question."

Jarlaxle realized he'd been manipulated again, into letting down his guard just enough to make a mistake, but he stood up gracefully and tipped his hat to him with mocking courtesy, to see the drow incline his head with just as much mockery."I believe I'd visit her again and confirm that," the mercenary said mischievously.

"Send her my regards," the drow turned back to the harpsichord.Whispering, oddly disturbing music enveloped Jarlaxle as he took his leave.

Click here for the NC-17 version of the next part.


	5. Part 5

Part 5

Part 5

The house was cold.

My fingers seemed covered with some invisible, intangible veneer of ice, and I fancied my nails were turning the cobalt blue of a late afternoon sky, or maybe the purplish blue of one of those corpses in the morgue. Either way, it wasn't particularly reassuring. Neither was the Colt revolver I was holding on to in my gun-hand with a death grip, like someone drowning holding on to a rescuer. Not for the first time I quietly cursed the gun laws in the country – a weighty submachine gun would do wonders to my self-esteem. Usually when I'm in my nice, warm apartment in my nice, safe armchair I'm anti-guns, which shows you a lot about me, doesn't it?

The skin of my hands seemed pale, nearly lucent next to the dark gleam of the revolver grip, and I felt a small treacherous surge of confusion, as if that wasn't _right somehow. No time to analyse the feelings, so I moved on.With the mincing, amusingly unsteady gait of a girl wearing nine-inch heels for the first time, I attempted (note attempted) to sneak quietly. Playing James Bond, what fun.Now I was in some room that looked like a damned medieval library. Dusty books. Nearly sneezed, what with all the damned dust whirling in slow motion like billions of drunken ballroom dancers, and wondered where the hell Cady was. Stupid idea of mine to separate.First time doing a potential hostage situation as a non-cop, and I was edgy. _

Had he found the kid? 

Couldn't seem to hear anything much. There was a lack of noise that made the air seem to hum in one's ears, like the quiet purring of an air conditioner. I caught unnecessary sounds that now seemed obscenely loud, when they would normally not even be noticed - my boot sinking into the scruffy carpet of a weary shade of red, my forced, steady breathing, the scrape of trouser fabric. 

I was pretty sure she was here, as sure as several hours of surveillance (coupled with an irritating need to use the gents each time a perceived development took place), inelegant bugging, snooping around the trash and interviewing neighbours, all the while scattering fake personas and reasons like confetti over a bride would be. Nice. _Fun.Now, what was it that convinced me the life of a gumshoe was all car chases and exciting espionage-related activities?_

Nothing to see in this room. No cooperative dust cover on the ground with equally cooperative footprints, fingerprints, personal effects. All that I could deduce, playing Sherlock bloody Holmes, was that some time ago a cat ruled this rambling house like my tabby Tam ruled mine - all those defiant scratch marks on the heavy, depressed curtains and the drooping sofa. Even the mahogany, glass-surface table looked limp. Cupboards were empty except for a few offended spiders.I wished this were an apartment in the mainland, where if I got killed I probably would be found. _Morbid. Now, where had that come from?_

Too much stress and playing hero? I really should have taken Cady's advice and called the cops and the family when we came to this conclusion, but the cops, even when well meaning, don't usually come fast enough for my tastes.Bureaucracy, that evil venomous, untrustworthy beast, moves like a slug when the speed of a cheetah is most called for.And since the Doctor just got out of the house, presumably to go to what passed as downtown on this place, hey, nice time to break in, rescue seven-year-old Drew Doarcia, and run away heroically. I think I'd get nightmares where Cady's disbelieving, sardonic expression would loom out of the darkness and go "I don't need to say 'told you so'..." in sepulchral tones.If I ever manage to get out to have nightmares in the first place.

Why am I so nervous? The only creep in this house is the Doctor, and he's gone.Must be the surfeit of movies I've been gorging myself on during spare time.Or maybe the fact that I'd never get used to not having close backup a call away.Turning private detective, after all the privileges of being a cop, still came as a mild shock, especially when I needed said privileges.Probably like a drug addict waking up one day to find that the world's drugs had mysteriously decomposed to nothing.

Can't hear Cady.

What sunlight the murky glass window let in spilled weakly onto the carpet and the torn sofa.Oddly, I automatically stepped around it, but I didn't want to go into an in-depth, soul-searching review of my probably stress-caused actions now, so I let it pass.Maybe there's schizophrenia in it somewhere.Leaned against the pocked, off-white wall next to the door out of this room.Carefully opened the door and nudged it open with my foot, half-expecting a violent reaction.

Feeling disappointed at the reception – one reproachful spider that scuttled away and up to the doorframe – I turned into the corridor.I wondered what would happen if I were caught and the kid wasn't here.Not much evidence, the Doctor's righteous indignation, all those bright flashing red sirens…breaking into a house, trespassing, you have the right to remain silent, that poor Tim, all the work finally got to him, etc, etc.

I wondered what drugs the architect for this mansion had been on.The corridor was the same one I'd started out in when I'd entered the library, which either meant this wing of the house was larger than I'd thought, or I was somehow going in circles.Couldn't see the first door to the library, so it was quite possible that the corridor curved away to my right.

Maybe LSD.

Was it the same one? Looked like it.The sad, peeling wallpaper and the obligatory sickly salmon-pink carpet.Different corridors in this mansion seemed to have different-themed carpets.I meditated on my drugged-architect theory as I neared the next door.

Same opening-door routine, which made me feel melodramatic and idiotic.Maybe this was what actors felt like when shooting a movie.Glanced inside – small room, French windows, dusty glass cabinet.Fine porcelain winked at me through the dust-fogged glass, some of which looked rare, even to my untutored and uncaring eye.I wondered how the Doctor could afford them on his salary – he wasn't any sort of honcho in Birs Hospital.

Baby grand piano next to the windows, sunlight falling on the seat and the keys.Nothing here either – I was going to leave quietly when a black blur leaped up onto the keyboard.The sharp discordant notes made me jump, and I nearly dropped the gun.A black cat gave me a reproachful look from flat yellow eyes, then padded to me and rubbed against my legs.Poor thing must have been locked in here, but from the smell and the looks of the mouse-bitten piano cover, red velvet pushed into lazy folds on the ground, it may not have been left wanting of food.

Being the antisocial sod I was, I aimed a kick at it, but it dodged skilfully, treated me to a mew that was full of wide-eyed hurt, and seeing that my heart didn't melt, it stalked off huffily, tail high.

Reached a staircase.The structure of this house was _insane.Why a staircase in the middle of nowhere? I climbed up, keeping to the railing, so as not to make too much creaking sounds.I wondered how the Doctor had acquired this house.Must have inherited, somehow, but research on him hadn't shown any hints of a privileged family background.This house positively stank of old money._

Still not a peep from Cady.Knowing him, he hadn't left his mobile phone on, if he'd even brought it, so I couldn't call him.Tried anyway – nope, no response.

Came up onto yet another corridor.How big was this house anyway? It didn't seem this big from the outside…I could feel the presence of a headache.Goddamnit.Just what I needed.

Carpet was a particularly dead shade of red.I think I'm becoming manic-depressive.Stupid house…stupid case…sometimes I believe I cultivate the wrong friendships.Drew's family only got referred to the Seek Sickers Investigation Agency (Cady's contribution to the brainstorming for names) because his brother was part of a gang that received 'support' from a bigger gang that I somehow got involved with.I call it gang, but Jared calls it 'organisation'._The Organisation.How did an ex-cop detective who adores a low profile get involved with the Organisation? To use a cliché, long, involved story that I can't remember much of, and some of which I still don't find believable._

Doors.Concentrate on doors.Maybe it was the cold, maybe the atmosphere.My brain shouldn't be drifting off this often…

Three doors.One at the right end, two opposite ones to the left end.Short corridor, which meant that, by the logic in this house, one of the rooms would be a default corridor to the next bit of this house, after which I would find that this 'short' corridor actually led to the rest of the wing anyway.I decided to try the door at the right end first.

Opened to another cold, small room.Shouldn't call it small actually – this was the size of my own bedroom.But compared to the other rooms in this nightmare, small.I saw with rising hope a small bed, some depressed stuffed toys in a neat pile on it, a relatively new rug with a garish bright green border.Pasted pictures on the walls, a child's drawings, all pictures of open space, all recent.Crayons on the ground, small kiddie table against the wall, of a shade of yellow only mass-manufactured plastic could be.Little kiddie chairs.Two neatly at the table…the other facing the corner to my far left.Away from the furniture and the small window.A tiny, definitely human figure sat in it.

_Bingo, Jeopardy, millionaire!_

Then the triumph turned stale, because the boy didn't turn to even look at me.Dark hair, right, dark chocolate skin as suits soccer fanatics, right…I walked a little noisily towards him."Drew?"

The boy flinched slightly, but didn't move.I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.He wasn't dead."Drew, baby? My name's Tim, I'm a detective your family got.You okay?"

Drew's fingers, clutching the edges of the chair, clenched.What was wrong with the kid? I couldn't see any restraints…so I walked up to him and knelt down."You okay?"

The boy turned wide brown eyes to me, let out a sigh or a gasp, and leaped off the chair into my arms."The Doctor told me not to leave the chair but you're not the Doctor can I go home now?" He paused for breath."Please?"

"Calm down, baby.Everything's going to be okay.The Doctor's not here.We're going home." I spoke soothing, inane words over and over again, softly, but they did the job.Drew began breathing steadily.Trust shone in his eyes, and he looked as me as a priest would look at his Saviour.Tried to be helpful."The House changes, you know."

"Changes?"

"Rooms don't stay where they are.You start walking in one place and you end up back at the same place it's scary please let us go home…" Breathing too fast again.I put this talk down to childish superstition.Lord knew it was easy enough to get lost in this damned place.

"I'd get you out, I promise.Now have you watched James Bond before?"

The kid nodded, mildly surprised at this sudden reference to the British spy.

"We've got to pretend we're both James Bond, okay? Move silently, pay attention for the bad guy.You can do that?" For some victims, it usually helped if one gave them an active role in their escape, or a perceived active role.May help in their therapy later, but I'm no shrink.

"Sure." Drew's eyes were wide again, this time from excitement.

"Stay close now." I edged towards the door, Drew copying my movements.At least he wasn't suffering from emotional/whatever shock…I didn't know how to deal with kids, period, let alone hysterical ones.Christ, of all the crimes, kidnapping kids had to be one of the worst.All those scarred families, the fear, and the sad success rate of finding them alive…and finally when the trail's cold and the cops have more or less given up, then they turn to the private detective and hope for a miracle.In this case, they got one.The only ones who were surprised were Cady and I.Obstinate hard work, luck, the Organisation's aid, somehow managed to get together all at once.

From what we'd found, there was some suggestion that the Doctor had, through his paediatric practice and 'volunteer work' in certain places, led to the 'disappearance' of at least two kids over the past few years.Drew was very lucky.

Now where in damnation was Cady?

We sneaked out to the corridor, then toward the staircase.

Or rather, where it had been.

The staircase was gone.

I stared at the now-blank wall in astonishment, then walked down the corridor, Drew dutifully following me.Even under my accusing stare, the missing structure refused to turn up.I wondered if I was going mad.I went back and knocked on the section of wall where the staircase had been.Nope, it was solid.

"Drew, baby, have you ever been out of your room?"

"Sometimes." Drew looked around him constantly, nervously.Very quick little eyes.

"Was there a staircase here?"

"Sometimes.An' sometimes there's two doors at the end of this corridors."

I looked.There were now three.I rubbed my eyes.Still three.

"And what happens when there's two?"

"There's two and a staircase when he wants me to go downstairs with him."

"And three?"

"Only three when I wanna escape.Then I can't go downstairs." The boy was trembling now."We'd go home won't we?"

"Don't worry, baby.Now tell me what happens when there're three."

"I can't go back into my room and only one of those three doors open."

I turned back.His room's door was closed, even though I hadn't shut it and I hadn't heard it closing.I tried the knob.Locked._Jesus Christ, this began to look like a bad horror movie._

"What's behind the door that can open?"

The boy shook again.Tiny fists clenched."Him."

Well, I had a gun.Time to give it a shot, pun intended."Come on then."

As the kid predicted, two doors were locked, one wasn't.I wondered how many times he'd tried escaping, and got the feeling he didn't want to tell me what happened when he got caught.Something must have caused the rigid obedience with which he stared at the corner of the wall even when a stranger spoke behind him and entered the room.

I kicked open the door as noiselessly as I could (a paradox there), and did a classic gun stance, both hands on the grip, finger ready and already putting pressure on the trigger.

Nothing…we were on a sort of balcony that looked out over a floor below us.Staircase, a gracefully curving one to the floor below.Strange, I hadn't seen it before, and the kid probably hadn't either – he looked surprised.

Carefully we went down the staircase, with him at my heels.There was a grimy chandelier above, teeny crystals catching the faded light, and small windows with big curtains and those ugly tassels some people think look tasteful.The windows were too small for me to get through, but I looked closer anyway – we were three stories off the ground…too high up to try and get Drew to climb down by himself.A Persian carpet at the end of the staircase, on which was a carved mahogany table with a Greek vase of dead flowers that once were probably roses.Half-naked carvings of nymphs and satyrs pranced as the vase's decoration.Charming.

The room was semicircular, with the flat portion of the semicircle bearing the windows, and three doors on the smooth curve.Wood-panelled wall that managed to look both expensive and like a certain cheap restaurant a few blocks from my apartment.

Hmm…time to ask the kid again."Have you seen this place before?"

"Nope."

So much for helpful contributions."Randomly pick a door, baby.I'd think your luck has got to be better than mine at the moment." 

Drew giggled nervously, then pointed to the door on my extreme left.Carefully I minced over to it, and opened it the spy way.I didn't know what to expect, and I certainly didn't expect a brick wall.In disbelief, I touched the rough surface.Solid.When rubbing it I nearly abraded my knuckles.

"You pick one." Drew was turning this into a sort of adventure.I tried to look more like a knight in shining armour for his sake.

The middle door, for variety, was a metal wall.Half-heartedly I scrutinised it.Maybe there was some sort of lever or mechanism or something.Nope, no such luck, and the wall was solid too.

The last door opened into a large kitchen that looked as though it had been used many hours ago.Dirty dishes steeped in murky sink water.There was a door at the far end, next to the 'fridge, and the kitchen was done in oak and white tiles which would have looked cheerful in less sinister surroundings.It looked homey – the stove, the kitchen table and chairs in the centre, the cabinets…but we crept to the door, opened it.No one outside, so we went through.

Was there any need to describe the next area? You'd never believe it, but we were back upstairs, outside Drew's room.I stared, mouth slightly open in shock.Wait, maybe this was only another damned copy.The stupid fuck of an architect.When I got out I'd go over to his place and pummel him, or something.

I turned back – the door was closed, and locked, even though I hadn't closed it.At the end of the corridor, three rooms.Two wouldn't open, one had already been opened, out to the balcony, the staircase, the chandelier, the small windows, the semicircular room._Jesus Christ._

"Mister Tim?" I heard Drew's timid voice through the fog of stunned amazement.

"Yes baby?"

"Are…are we going home?"

"Of course we are, I promised." The words sounded hollow even to me, but Drew seemed satisfied.Went downstairs – two doors that opened to brick and metal walls, one into an extremely familiar kitchen with extremely familiar dishes.God, maybe this was a nightmare, please let it be a nightmare.

I stopped in the kitchen and took a deep breath."Let's try again, okay?"

"Okay."

Two more loops, back in the kitchen.On the last one, I'd taken a dish out and put it on the table, with a cup on it.The next loop brought me back.Same cup, same dish, same position.Even the same damned water droplets from me messily lifting the cup out of the sink._Jesus Christ._

When in deep shit, call for help.I took the mobile phone from its pouch in my belt, and debated on calling the police, decided against it – they'd never believe me anyway.Poor old Tim, thinks he's walking into the same room again and again, must be going a bit bonkers up there, you know? Tried calling Cady.No answer.Even the dial tone managed to sound accusatory.

I took a deep breath, and called the last number for emergencies.Waited impatiently as the monotonous ring-tone picked up, then to my relief a familiar feminine voice replaced it.

"What do you want, Tim?Do you have Drew?"

"Yep, got the kid, and I need some serious help."

"What's wrong?" Bianca could seem as concerned as a paid psychiatrist could.Wasn't her real name, of course – the real name was Witney, and she hated it.She tolerated the inevitable shortening of Bianca to Bi.Ironical, that voice, considering what she did for a living.

"We can't get out, and I can't find Cady." Briefly I told her what was wrong, and half-expected her to burst into derisive laughter.

When she didn't, I felt mildly annoyed.What, she didn't believe me? Luckily I managed to see how idiotic this reaction was, and quashed it before she answered.

"I'd be right there."

"Are you sure about this?" Sheer relief.She could handle anything.

"I _said I'd be there.Where are you?"_

I told her, and then something occurred to me."Bi, are you sure Jared would allow you to…"

Amusement."Strange as this may seem to you, I don't belong to Jared, Tim.This sounds serious, and while it may come as a shock to you, I like you and Cady…and some excitement after a week of pushing paper could be cathartic.See you.Stay where you are, from what I hear the kitchen's the best defensive position."

She hung up; I pulled out a chair and sat down, feet flat on the ground, resting the gun on the table.Drew pulled up a chair."Help's coming?"

"Yeah.Your brother's friends.Now we just have to wait and watch the doors carefully."I still felt numb, from what was happening, and from Bianca's ready acceptance of the situation and her decision to come and help.I tried to think of what she would have to say to Jared, and cheered up.

"Okay."

**

After a few hours – it was somewhat reassuring to find that time passed in this place – Drew fell asleep.I couldn't blame the kid – my eyelids felt like drifting down, but a few years of surveillance had been of use.Never thought I'd use it to try and defend myself, though.I wondered if there was coffee in the cabinet, and decided I didn't really want to look.My foot was beginning to cramp, and during this lull in all that activity, my body was reminding me of the cold again.I'd given Drew my jacket to use as a blanket, so I was less advantaged in the warmth department.

To pass the time I thought of the Organisation and marvelled on how it survived in U.S.A, supposedly the most developed country in the world.And one of the more crime-ridden, but for some reason that always refused to sink in.I'd lost count of the members of the core group, and it had many branches – Drew's brother's Latino-only teenage gang, for one.Jared liked to cultivate loyalty, so he usually arranged help and such for members of such affiliates – Drew, for one.Kidnapped in his school playground, wasn't found out until lesson-time.It was remarkably easy to kidnap children in playgrounds that weren't fenced in, and with Drew this trusting…from what I'd heard, he liked to sit alone in a quiet corner as well.Perfect victim potential.

The Organisation seemed to be made up that way – outer circles of affiliates, the core group of the directly 'employed' – the more sophisticated hitmen, and miscellaneous higher-up criminals – then the inner circle – a few lieutenants.Then Jared's bodyguard, or whatever she called herself, _confidant, consultant, whatever, Bianca, who did half of his work, and occasionally seemed to be just as much the head of the Organisation as he was.And Jared himself, of course, the modern-day Godfather, every manipulative inch of the spider that he was, sitting in his web of organised crime, extremely intelligent.Ph.D. at twenty something, I think it was for psychology, and I had no idea how he got involved in what was popularly termed the Underworld.I didn't know much about Bianca – she was more reticent about her past and her life in front of me, but I got the feeling they were equals._

Wonder why Drew was picked – was he just convenient, or was it on purpose? From what we'd seen of the Doctor – mild mannered paediatrician in the day, child-kidnapper whenever it suited him – evidence leant towards 'convenient', but you'd never know in these sick cases.Police were still checking him out, but it was a bit late to regret the decision to come here alone with Cady instead of bringing official aid.Since we weren't sure whether Drew was really here anyway.

I looked down at my hands – hands of a white man, and somehow I got that feeling that something was out of place.I stared at them – the callused palm, the blue veins at the wrist, slightly dirty fingernails…what? I was absorbed in turning my hand over and over, staring at the groove of the lifeline, the bones under the skin, more veins, so I didn't notice Bianca at the door.

"Something wrong with your hand?" 

I jumped, half-starting from the chair, which scraped back noisily and woke up Drew.She grinned, flashing perfect white teeth.

Bianca looked gypsy, but I couldn't really tell.Raven black hair that streamed down, a gleaming waterfall, past slender shoulders right out of a Baywatch poster.Heart-shaped face framed by the tresses, soft black eyes, long eyelashes, sharp, inquisitive nose, rose-red inviting lips.You could see the muscles under the mocha skin up close, but from here she just looked like a model, maybe for some perfume company with confusing commercials.Very easy to imagine those wide, vapid smiles wreathing her face, flipping hair, painted fingernails…tall, beautiful, the works.People could easily class her into a certain category of humanity, unless they happened, like me, to see how she fought.How she thought.

Clinging deep red cotton blouse, jeans of some velvety material, dark brown.Looked expensive, branded goods, compared with Cady's scruffy blue plain shirt and pants that had seen better days until they took up a relationship with my greying partner.Black Doc Martens, with concealed knives.She held a chrome-plated gun that definitely did not look like a toy, and I was sure there were other 'surprises' in the light pack that fit easily on her back and shoulders.The quintessential 21st century James Bond girl, just what we needed.

I wondered idly how Jared managed to attract these sorts of people, as my heart attempted to return to its original position where it'd jumped when she decided to appear at the door.Behind her was a familiar thin, pale figure – Cady, rubbing a lump on his head and muttering darkly to himself.

"Cady! Are you okay?"

"Does it look like I'm okay?" He gave me a morose once-over, then slouched over and pooled in a chair.

"What happened?"

"Hey kid.At least we found ya.What happened to me? I don't know shit.Walked into a room looking for the kid, looked like a living room or something, next thing I know someone or something hit me on the head, and I'm out like a light."Cady returned to gingerly probing the lump.

"And I find him there, wake him up, we walk around, and end up upstairs…"

"At the corridor with three doors at one end?" I had a sinking feeling in my gut.

"Yeah." Bianca looked rather unsurprised."Just like you described on the 'phone.Went downstairs, found you.End of story."

"How'd you get here so fast? Last I heard you were in L.A."

"I was in one of Jared's homes – a yacht, _Eighth Circle.Since you said this was an island, I simply commandeered it.It's at the dock now, waiting for us."Eighth Circle of Dante's Inferno…Sins of Fraud.Ahaha._

"And Jared didn't say anything?" Cady surfaced from his mire of self-pity for a moment.

"He wasn't there to say anything."Bianca positively smirked."Hey Drew.How's things?"

Drew smiled happily."Better."

"Nice to hear, love."She affectionately ruffled his hair.

"Why don't you ever call me love?" I bantered.

She looked at me owlishly."Because you're not cute enough, gumshoe."

"You wound me," I told her.

"Good."She glanced at Cady."Ready to start moving now, antique?"

Cady shook a finger at her in mock rage."Young lady…"

"Spare me the senile diatribes until we get out of here, old man," she laughed at his venomous glare.Cady hated being called 'old' – once he'd told me that if someone ever attempted to give up his or her seat to him in a bus, the charitable soul would be beaten up on the spot. "Okay, so this is the repeating door?"

I nodded.Drew nodded.Marionettes.

"Let's try it then.Cady, do you think you're up to carrying Drew?"

The predictable thing happened, and we ended up in the kitchen.Bianca sucked her cheek thoughtfully.

"Ya don't seem much surprised." Cady was back in the chair, seating Drew on his lap.

"If you quote me in front of Jared I'd call you a liar, but if you want my real opinion on this…"

"It's supernatural, right?"

"Seems paranormal to me, unless we're on some sort of induced drug trip."Bianca sniffed the air."And I doubt that we'd still be able to go around in circles when hallucinating.Everything seems clear, there aren't any other wildly mysterious appearances…"

"So what do we do?" Cady was always the one who was to-the-point.

Bianca pulled out a chair and sat down."Nothing much we can do.Is there food in the 'fridge?"

"You can think of food now?" I didn't conceal how incredulous I felt.

"If we have to sit out a siege…"

I took a look.Didn't know what to expect, maybe bottled heads and eyeballs, too many psychotic movies.It was a 'normal' 'fridge – yoghurt, milk, orange juice, chocolate sauce, suspicious vegetables, the obligatory paper-wrapped cuboids of butter, a lurking jar of vomit-green hotdog relish, innocent-looking cheddar cheese, frozen bread.The freezer had meat that I didn't feel like identifying at the moment, but since it looked supermarket wrapped it should be…conventional, some sausages, and a box of fish fingers.There was some ice-cream.Who put ice-cream with meat?

"We can sit out a siege." Cady observed, unnecessarily.

Bianca was still holding on to her gun – but so was I.She didn't say anything.A 'let's hope it won't come to that' would just have sounded needlessly plaintive.Drew had fallen asleep again – in the silence the three of us seemed to be calmed by his breathing.

"Wonder if he'd come check on us." Cady continued.

I glanced at Bianca.She now wore an unpleasant smile."I hope so."

The gun hand rested on the table, and the metal finish glinted in the cheap fluorescent whiteness of the kitchen lights.

**

Time seemed to pass slowly.We took turns complaining, playing with Drew, reminiscing, playing with Drew, complaining, reminiscing some more, sleeping, watching the doors, and occasionally cooking.I began to try and think of a place where Jared wouldn't be able to find me and get his hands on me for separating his precious Bianca from his property for this length of time.

We had begun speculating what the Doctor was doing in town, or whether he had come back.If he had, did he know we were here, and was prolonging whatever he wanted to prolong, or was he oblivious? 

What made it weirder was that when Bianca called _Eighth Circle, and some of the Organisation's minions came to look for us, they couldn't seem to find the house.We took turns trying to give instructions, then gave up.Currently they were still scouring the large island the best they could for what was apparently now a non-existent mansion._

This pretty turn of affairs reached Jared's ear remarkably quickly, and he shouted at Bianca over her 'phone for a while (Cady and I wished she'd turn the volume down by half, at least).Bianca placidly listened to him, then finally asked if he had anything constructive to add, which nearly set him off again, I could tell.

When she philosophically put the 'phone back in her pack, Cady voiced our thoughts."He's coming?"

"Damn him." Bianca replied obliquely. 

"Maybe he'd bring some more people."

"I brought some – left them in the garden to keep watch, thinking this would be less of a mess if I went in myself.Called them some time ago, several times.No answer.Probably…non-vital now." She gave Drew a sidelong glance, unwilling to say _dead in front of a kid.Very maternal._

"He also had several choice things to say about you," Bianca winked at me.

"Oh good, entertainment at last." Cady brightened up.

I sank into my chair.Maybe if I ran off to some remote monastery in Tibet…

"Tried smashing those windows?" Bianca glanced out of the kitchen."Maybe Drew can get out, if anything…"

Drew began to look excited, but the three of us silently weighed his chances outside, alone, and came to the same decision.

"No harm doing it anyway," Cady rubbed his eyes."Maybe your lackeys would be able to find broken glass."

Bianca shrugged, producing one of those double-edged, triangular ninja throwing knives.Very theatrical, and very brutal-looking.She took aim, and her wrist flicked forward.

The knife embedded itself into the glass, but it only cracked – and the house keened.

I swear it – a cry of agony both high-pitched and in a bass growl seemed to emanate from the walls, and at the same time there was a sharp jolt of pain in my head.I must have groaned, because the three of them glanced sharply at me.

"Tim?" Concern camped from Cady's thin mouth to his greying fringe.

"Sudden headache," I gingerly probed my head.It had receded into a dull throbbing."Probably stress."

Bianca snorted."Let's try it again, then." Yet another throwing knife, but this time thrown such that it quivered in the doorframe like a hooked fish.Another unearthly howl of pain, and yet another stab in my head.

"I don't understand," Cady said bluntly, as wide-eyed as the kid.

"Are we inside Tim's head?" Drew advanced a timid suggestion.

Bianca's stare was intense – her eyes sparkled with energy."Nice way of putting it, love."

"Ya mean he's right?"

She shrugged again."It's as good a reason as any. Any other ideas?"

I rubbed my nose."No.But if it's my brain, then I should be able to get us out." The words sounded unreal, and seemed to hang in the air.

"Try."

"Right.Let's say I want that door to open outside." I pointed at the door that led upstairs."So I just make it open outside? Hah."

"Jee-sus, you're taking this seriously?" Cady leant forward.

"Do you have better contributions to make?" Bianca nodded at the disgruntled shake of the grizzly grey head."There you go."

"But why is this…" I began.

"Let's ask that big question _when we get out."Always the pragmatist.  
I took a deep breath, and attempted to focus on a picture of the badly kept, weed-choked ground outside the mansion, then attempted to pin it to the door.Maybe I was going mad.I heard a chair scrape, and saw Bianca, through my haze of concentration, walk catlike to the door and open it._

Tidal wave of relief – the door led outside.The scent of rotting lawn washed in, and smelt sweet – the scent of freedom.Then I realised that someone who looked remarkably like myself was blocking the way out.

"Surprise," he said softly, and his hand darted forward, like those little hummingbirds, a comparison enhanced by the shimmer of the steel knife in his hand.Bianca flinched violently to the side, and so it missed her heart, getting embedded in the joint between left shoulder and arm instead.She hissed in pain, but the gun went up, pumping.

The…person was already diving and rolling, towards me, so I started from my chair and got punched in the solar plexus for my efforts.Didn't let go of the gun, but as I aimed it at him he somehow sprang back to his feet, and one hand caught my gun hand wrist in a grip like a vise.I kneed him in the stomach, and he pulled me down with him.The next moments were confused – Cady's shouting at Bianca not to shoot, _not to shoot, Bianca growling back some answer as we rolled on the ground like those gangster fights in movies, me trying to shoot him, him trying to wrest the gun from me._

The gun went off, bullet hole in the ceiling and the sharp sting of gunpowder on my cheek.He yelled in pain, but I hadn't hit him – at the same time I felt the daggers of agony in my brain, but I'd been expecting them.I took advantage of the temporary slack to grab him under the chin and slam his head against the ground.A loud crack and he was still, but not dead – breathing, chest lifting up and down in a grotesque parody of peace.Myself, I was breathing hard as I staggered to my feet, gun trained on him.It was a mercy he didn't wear the same clothes, or even Cady might have had difficulty telling him from me...I felt like I was looking into a mirror, and wondered, not for the first time, what in hell was going on.

Pale shirt and black jeans that also looked expensive._Who was this guy?_

"Weirder and weirder." Bianca appeared unruffled as she knelt down and checked his pulse, then stood up."Good job, actually."The knife was still in her shoulder, and she made no move to pull it out – would cause more bleeding, and there was no medical aid here.The stains didn't seem to show much through her red blouse, but blood began to trickle in tiny rivulets down her arm in vein-like patterns.I looked away quickly.

"Do you want to call the cops?" Cady asked.Drew was silent, staring at Bianca's wound.

"I'm a felon myself, remember?" Bianca winked at Drew."It's all right, love."Back to Cady."The best I can do is get my 'lackeys', as you call them, to put this twin of Tim in a certain place, and get some answers from him."She said it very matter-of-factly, without any inflection at all, but I knew how they were going to 'get some answers', and I shivered.

"Fine idea, except how are we going to drag him there?" Cady stretched, holding Drew.

Bianca made a show of looking outside.With a sinking heart, I saw what looked like one of Jared's cars prowl up what was left of the driveway, and idly wondered how he'd managed to get it onto an island even as I attempted to move behind Bianca.

She managed a chuckle, even though her pain."Don't worry, he probably won't hurt you."

"It's the 'probably' that's getting to me."

**

Drew was returned to his happy family, we got thanked, more importantly, paid, and were now sitting in the luxurious meeting room on the _Eighth Circle.My 'evil twin', as Cady put it, was now languishing somewhere in the mainland under the 'care' of the Organisation._

I tried to sink into the black leather love seat like my feet had in the lush rosewood-hued carpet.The wood panelling of the room reminded me of another chamber, elsewhere, but the vibrant, polished oak in the soft light lent warmth and comfort.Cady was asleep in the yielding embrace of the brown velvet-covered sofa, probably from the medications for the bump on his head.I contemplated the large wooden model of a ship in a glass bottle with a small neck on the table facing me, with the metal-and-cushion swivel-chair behind it, the back to the window (porthole, whatever) that gave a glimpse of the sea.Not very comforting – if I were to run out to the deck and dive off, I'd be quite a distance from the land.

I wondered who was the tasteless one who put a mosaic on the ceiling that depicted sections of the Eighth circle of Hell.Needless to say, tiles of different shades of red dominated the piece.Perversely the framed paintings on the wall were of peaceful landscapes – one that looked suspiciously like a Monet of a garden, for example.Two doors, both dark wood, with polished silver doorknobs.I wondered how much money Jared made in a day.

The door that led to the common rooms opened, and Bianca let herself in, closing it behind her.She wore a long wheat-coloured silk dress, embroidered on the bosom with thread of a darker hue, very elegant, oddly formal, if you ignored the seemingly mismatching black Doc Martens.She wore those boots nearly everywhere.The outfit managed to cover most of the bandages, such that only a thin sliver of white peeked out from the silk, like sunlight does, sometimes, from behind a cloud.The sapphire on her black lace choker seemed to blink myopically in the light.

"Where's Jared?" My voice woke up Cady, who sheepishly sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Bianca smiled without showing her teeth."Settling something."It didn't invite further questions as to what he was settling.The three of us, now in such surroundings, exchanged meaningless courtesies and compliments for ten minutes, such that I forgot to ask anyway.Bianca probably doubled up as a hostess for certain functions of the Organisation on occasion.

"How's the arm?" Cady and I wore a plain shirt and trousers, and felt underdressed.As it was he self-consciously glanced down at his battered shoes, and surreptitiously tried to check if they were leaving marks on the carpets.

Bianca sat on the desk next to the ship-in-the-bottle, and still managed to make the position look lady-like, crossing long legs."Damage to the radial nerve, but superficial trauma to the long bone, considering the situation.Missed the artery.Can't move my arm much and I may not be able to wear those shoulder-baring dresses any longer, but it'd probably heal, after all that surgery.Jared threatened a few specialists.No infection, at least."

"Sorry," I felt guilty.

She tried to shrug, and winced, then tried to cover that up by pushing her long hair over the injured shoulder."I chose to go.Pretty exciting."

"Exciting?" Cady choked on the scotch that he had poured for himself from the drink cabinet.

"Exciting?" Jared echoed.I hadn't heard the door open.He advanced menacingly on Bianca, who merely smiled demurely.

Jared wore that black velvet cowboy hat of his even indoors, and I speculated once that it was to cover the baldness, until I noticed how he flaunted that aspect of his appearance as well, especially in front of people who felt uncomfortable when they see him stroking his scalp.More expensive, tailored clothes – I seemed to be surrounded by wealthy people lately – maroon Armani shirt, tight trousers of a deep electric blue, cream yellow tie.Jared liked wearing outrageous clothes, and I gathered this was a common topic of debate with Bianca.Her gaze was disapproving.But she _had managed to wean him away from the purple cowboy hat…at least, in her presence._

He grinned at it, then kissed her passionately.It went on for a while, and got embarrassing.Cady and I exchanged glances.Feeling like an interloper, I cleared my throat noisily.Bianca pushed him away, cheeks flushed, but smiled again.

Jared touched the brim of the hat, one of his ambiguous gestures that could mean anything from a greeting to a prelude to excessive violence.Smooth, tan-coloured skin was stretched tightly over muscles and sharp, thin features – the jutting nose, well-defined cheekbones, the dark hollows beneath them, and the high forehead.Thin lips curved into a humourless upward arc, and the deep forest green eyes were distinctly cold.Then he seemed to reach some sort of decision, and straightened.This time his eyes twinkled like pinpoints of light caught in crystal. "Welcome to the _Eighth Circle, gumshoes.If you're interested, drugs are on the fourth deck, gambling on the third…"_

Bianca chuckled, her laugh rich and low."Jared…"

He gave her a _can't fault a guy for trying grin, and sidled next to her, slipping his arm around her waist.Handsome couple."Bianca convinced me not to mutilate, dismember, incapacitate, decapitate or disable any part of you, so we'd just get on to explaining the house itself.Now I'd like to know what happened."It wasn't a request, but it sounded like one.Jared could make 'go to hell' sound courteous._

I told him, he listened, and Cady added what had happened to him.Bianca was silent – I assumed she'd already informed him of her part in the matter.When I got to the end of the fight with my doppelganger, Jared twitched.

"He got away."

I didn't register that at first, then I did, slowly."What?"

Jared looked both annoyed and uncomfortable, one of his volatile moods."I said he got away.Somehow, when he was conscious, he managed to get out of his handcuffs, overpower five good men, truss them up, and get away in the 'prisoner' car.No, I have no idea how he did it."

"Still on the loose?" Cady inspected the rim of the crystal goblet.

"Operatives have been on the lookout…"

"Still on the loose," I agreed.

Jared scowled down at his well-made, bull's blood-hued shoes.Bianca skilfully changed the subject, and soon we were chatting on taxes, the new government, golf, property, everything but what I wanted to hear, but I knew better than to press the subject.

Cady did it – in part."How's the kid?"

"Recovering very well," Bianca rubbed the hollow between Jared's left hand's thumb and forefinger absently."He'd never trust strangers again, but perhaps that's for the better."

"What about the Doctor?" I remembered.

"Never showed up.Haven't heard from him since.He hasn't been to the hospital where he works in, nor the other properties," Jared seemed to have an answer to almost everything.

It seemed to conclude the entire affair.Bianca and Jared stared at us until we got the message and exchanged meaningless good-bye pleasantries.Cady and I got out of the room, feeling as though we were schoolboys escaping from the principal's office after a dressing-down, and decided to go and take another nap.By the sound of things behind the door that we had thankfully closed, Jared wasn't wasting time scolding Bianca…

**

I woke up when water splashed on my face, icy cold.Sneezing, I sat up immediately and rubbed my eyes, identified the culprit, and immediately felt for my gun.

Needless to say it wasn't there.My doppelganger dangled it out of my reach, like a cruel child holding a doggy treat just out of reach of a puppy, and conscientiously put a glass that still had pearls of water in it on the small table next to the bed.The wetness on my face grew oppressive, as if a heavy veil was suffocating me.I tried not to make sudden movements as I stared at him.

My mirror image wore the exact same clothes with which he had been in when he 'surprised' Bianca, not a rip, not a smear on them.He smiled that lopsided smile I used on people whom I wanted to think I was intellectually challenged.I found myself looking down the muzzle of the gun, and wondered what it felt like to die.

"How'd you get past all the security?" I asked, at the same time he said, "I suppose you're wondering how I got on the yacht."

"And that."

"And that."

"You wouldn't believe me at this point of time." He replied.

I glared briefly at him."Who are you?"

"Yourself, of course." He seemed unconcerned.

"So you're going to commit suicide?" My eyes were drawn back to the gun, the gleaming, murderous metal tube.

"I wasn't going to shoot you."

"Really." If I were to throw the sheets at him, duck and roll…

"A way of getting your full attention."

Was he psychotic, or was he psychotic."You have it."

"Good.Listen to me.Do you remember that house?"

"Unfortunately." I decided not to try anything.

"Do you know what it is?"

"Bianca said it was my mind." I wished someone would come in.Preferably, either Jared or Bianca…

"Correct.Can you tell between reality and the imagination?"

Just my luck, a philosophical psychopath that looked exactly like me."I believe so."

"You believe," he repeated mockingly._My voice…__my line… "Would you believe me if I told you this world isn't real?"_

"Sometimes it seems so," I said cautiously.

"Have you watched the Matrix?"

"This world is really a computer?"

He snorted."No.It's hard to explain, and I won't.It's a pyramid, actually." With his free hand he drew out something that he wore around his neck – it looked like some sort of good luck charm.The chain was continuous, with no clasp.The pendant was a crystal pyramid, the inside of which burned with a tongue of dancing, dark green fire.

"That's the world?"

"The real one."

"Oh." I attempted to humour him."I see."

He smiled pityingly."You don't at all, but not to worry – none of the masks ever did before they go in."

"Masks?"

"Yes.Are you ready?"

"Ready for?" I considered throwing a pillow at him.Maybe if it hit the gun out of the way…

"Taking over.The mind."

"I don't have a mind now?" 

"No.You're merely a part of one; one persona put in a make-believe world in a pool of other personas.I'm real."

"Make-believe?" I echoed, deciding not to argue the point that anyone who could get onto Jared's yacht unnoticed and unchallenged was probably unreal._And life seems pretty 'real' to me.Sensations washed my senses as if in silent denial – the soft cotton sheets, the embracing mattress, the coolness of the air-conditioning, and the light in my eyes._

He smiled as if he knew."Realistic, isn't it? Amazing what magic and really good inbuilt illusion can achieve, this semblance of life itself.It even borrows from real life – Jared, Cady…the first two letters of their real names, crossing time itself, with those not even born yet, or are in their childhood – respectively, Drew and Bianca, or should I say, Witney.Well then, are you ready?"

"To go into the real world?" I thought of the Matrix."Do I get red pills and blue pills?"

"No, you get to say yes or no."

"If I say no?"

"Then I shoot you, since you'd be of no further use to me.They'd come and find you and give you a nice funeral, and I'd just find someone else.This world will exist as long as I play masquerades."

"Such a difficult choice."

He laughed, and the room seemed to be blurring, dimming – the sharp outlines of wall corners and tables turning fuzzy, like a badly frozen movie frame.Everything seemed to be turning greyer, then abruptly the bed I was sitting on became insubstantial and I fell painfully onto my rump.As I scrambled hastily to my feet I noticed that the bed wasn't there anymore.Neither was the room.

We were in some infinitely large void, illuminated with a dull grey-blue light.Or rather – I was – he was gone, just like that.I looked down at myself as if expecting to see a bullet hole – maybe this was the Afterlife – and noticed something weirder – my skin was darkening, as if being charred by some invisible fire, and finally stopped at pitch black.Fingers became slender, hairless, and the hair that intruded into my field of vision was an unusual shade of white.Wha?

The clothes changed too, warping like special effects into some white robe and pants that vaguely resembled Obi-wan's clothing in Star Wars: Episode One.And the memories…

The memories…

Memories…

What in the Nine Hells? These dreams of voids were getting really strange, or maybe this was what happened when you have concussion.What's so interesting about an expanse of nothing? Wish fulfilment? Maybe that fractured skull didn't heal as much as the Matron said it had.I wondered if I should try and wake up – last I remembered was that _vithin snake._

The irritating buzz in the silence identified itself as voices, somewhere to the north.They sounded familiar, and it took me a short while to place them – Jarlaxle and a female.A child's voice, then Caomh.I walked quickly in that direction, and they came into view suddenly, like reality after a hangover.

Jarlaxle was speaking earnestly to an extremely pretty drow female, and Caomh was watching with amusement, his single arm cradling a sleeping kid.The kid and the female were blurred, like smudged paintings.Very strange – as if they didn't really exist. Looked like it, anyway – the female wasn't wearing priestess robes, or at least not most of the time – her clothes shifted from light blue to clerical dark purple.It made my eyes water when I tried to concentrate on it.Maybe this was what that famous illusion in the Baenre chapel would be like.

Caomh noticed me first, and grinned."_Vendui, __Qu'el'velguk."_

"_Vendui, Caomh…what are all of you doing in my dream?"_

Jarlaxle broke off talking with the female and smiled at me."Ah, Ti'erlfein."

I inclined my head."Jarlaxle.Lloth, I think this is a bad dream after all…"

The female chuckled, but made no move to correct me, if that was her intention.

"This is Lady…" the mercenary raised his eyebrows at her.

"Not a chance, Jarlaxle.I've told you why I can't tell you my name.Several times."

"But…"

"No.There's no use anyway, since none of us will remember when we wake up." 

"So why don't you tell me, since I will forget?" Jarlaxle put on a charming smile.

"Because he told me there was a 'high chance' we would not remember.Not an absolute chance."

"Why did he tell you all this and not us, then?" Caomh looked down at the kid."Cute.Looks like Zak…the nose and the shape of the face…"

"Well he should, considering he's Zak's son," the female said dryly.

"Really." Caomh rocked the child, and something that looked like affection flickered across his face.

"Who's this 'he' that seems to know everything?" I managed to ask.

"Someone who talked to her but forgot about the rest of us." Jarlaxle touched the female's cheek as if to make sure she was solid.She rolled her eyes.

"Since I'm the farthest away from all of you in the 'real world', with the possible exception of Drizzt there, but a child may not be able to explain this as well as an adult.So there is less of a chance, if we happened to remember, for me to meet one of you in the near future and 'discover' this common experience and quote, 'blow his cover'.As it is I was not allowed to tell you lot everything…"

"You're a child now." Jarlaxle pointed out."You said so yourself."

"Do I look like one here?" She turned around slowly, gracefully, showing off her curves.I realised I was staring quite unashamedly, and hoped Jarlaxle didn't notice.He seemed possessive of her, whoever this female was.

The female turned away and gave me a once-over."I wonder how he thinks _you'd be more stable this time…but no matter."_

"Who?" I must have looked very blank, because she laughed.

"If he didn't tell you, or if you forgot, it's none of my business.He doesn't seem to exist in a place ruled by time, anyway…just look at us.Now wake up."

"How?"

"Can he delay this? I want to talk with you a little more." Jarlaxle was still admiring the female.

"We'd meet somewhere in the future, that's all he told me." Her eyes were deep pools of an icy blue."Wake up, Ti'erlfein."

And I did.


	6. Part 6

Part 6

Part 6

I woke up in a cold dungeon cell.New experiences every cycle…it took a moment for the reality of the situation to hit me.

Sat up too quickly, such that I had to close my eyes and wait for the black dizziness to wear off._Whose dungeon cell? Just better not be in a rival House's, if Ilith'vir even had one anymore.How had I gotten here? Where was that snake?_

For a brief, panic-filled moment I imagined I had been swallowed, until the rational bit of my mind pointed out that the insides of a snake would hardly be steel and stone, and could hardly be cool and smell of still air.

Carefully I looked around, afraid of what I'd find.Could smell the commode from here, but it wasn't unbearable.Table with pieces of paper and some books – through the light I could read their titles._Breeding habits of rothe? I frowned.Why books? Entertainment? But the whole point about dungeons was discomfort…yet another of the illogical things about this cell then, with the other one being that light.It should be uncomfortable to my eyes, but it wasn't, as if I was…used to it.There was some sort of irregular, carved wooden box on four legs against the wall, next to the table.Then a short half body-length to the depressingly solid steel bars that gleamed smugly in the mage-light._

I got up; wincing slightly as my bare feet touched the cold stone.There were some boots popularly known as 'commoner' boots – no dagger sheathes, no hidden knives, cardboard soles.Nothing in the room that could be used as a weapon.The bed was bolted down, as was the rest of the furniture except the strange wooden box.

Hopefully I sidled over to it after putting on the boots.Opening it as noiselessly as I could – murmurs of voices somewhere down the corridor outside the cell suggested guards – I felt disappointed.Rectangular squares were fixed in a row, smooth and bone white – probably ivory.The cover of the box had been traced with lines of ivory – a conventional design that looked like some surface bird amongst lots of leaves.

It looked like a musical instrument.Tentatively I touched one of the keys, and a note sang out.Interesting, but the voices stopped, and then started again, this time with undercurrents of purpose.Whoops.

I sat down in front of the instrument, stared hard at the keys, and put all my concentration toward listening.No footsteps heading this way – one set was receding.Going to fetch someone, or something? Where was I anyway?

Outside the cell was a blank wall.That didn't help.I considered pressing my face against the bars and trying to look around as much as I could, but I remembered that some dungeons had warded bars, to make it interesting for any prisoner attempting to escape that way.Fireworks, burned flesh, silence, just add pain.

There didn't seem to be much else I could do.After some restless pacing and disinterested flipping through the books, I sat on the bed.Maybe I should fall asleep again – better than tiring myself out by panicking.I stared at the boots.Maybe I could get into the sleep-trance in this position.

While I was weighing the benefits of trying to find an escape route, waiting quietly, or falling asleep and getting surprised if someone decided to visit, I fell asleep.

A faint tapping, like hard ceramic on steel, stole away the presence of sleep faster than a good thief would rob a drunk merchant. _Plink, plink-plink.Plink, plink-plink.I looked up through the white veil of fringe, and saw Jarlaxle slouched on a chair on the opposite side of the steel bars, elbow casually sitting on the armrest, cheek against one fine-boned hand. One of the famous diatryma feathers coyly brushed against a mithril band high on his arm, inscribed with what looked like dwarven runes._

The other hand, resting on his lap, held a glass sphere the size of a baby svirfneblin's head. Suspended in the exact centre, like some deformed heart, was a very familiar figurine. I deliberately gave it only a cursory, disinterested glance, unwilling to give the rogue any satisfaction.

"_Vendui_, Jarlaxle." I felt mildly relieved. This probably meant I was in the dungeons of Bregan D'aerthe, and not that of a rival House. Hopefully.

"_Vendui_, Ti'erlfein," he replied familiarly, as if he'd known me for years instead of a few short meetings spread over a few decades. "Are you feeling better?"

"I might be," I pushed my fringe away, keeping the gesture fluid, not jerky with the irritation at the apprehension I felt, shading my eyes for that required instant I needed to study his features closely. Unworried, neutral, dispassionate. That could have both positive and negative inflections...

"Oh?" Jarlaxle raised the glass ball to eye-level and pretended to study the figurine.

"Dungeon air doesn't suit my constitution." I returned his amused glance evenly.I didn't glance at the figurine.It wasn't difficult – without the name, Jarlaxle wouldn't be able to summon it – and knowing the mercenary, he probably would not do anything that was remotely risky.Thus the glass ball, I would think.

"Easily remedied. You may go." He snapped the fingers on his free hand, a little theatrically. Two guards appeared at his shoulder, and made a show of unlocking the door and swinging it noiselessly open.

Immediately I felt wary. Images of myself getting stabbed in the back kept intruding into my mind, and I considered whether staying in the cell, which was defensive, but risking Jarlaxle's ire, was better than doing the predictable thing and exiting confinement. So I hesitated, and the rogue, damn him, noticed my uncertainty.Not that he showed any outward indication that he had – but you can always tell.

"I came to an arrangement with your Matron," Jarlaxle began to toss the ball, dextrously catching it each time it plummeted to the ground. "So I repeat: you may go. Would you like me to add...threats, manipulation, or acts of coercion so you would better understand my invitation?"

I sighed, but stood up stiffly, averting eyes from the quick smirk that sprawled over his lean features. Once I walked past the guards, they flinched back slightly, as if afraid, or maybe just because I was invading their personal space. You'd never know with drow. "_Aluve_, Jarlaxle," I bowed mockingly. I'd rather find out by myself how I'd ended up in Bregan D'aerthe, so I didn't bother trying to ask him questions.He didn't seem to expect any. 

Thin lips spread into a sphinx-like smile. "Don't forget this," he tossed the ball at me, and I managed to catch it without attempting to duck. "M'terl here," he gestured to one of the guards, "Will show you out and return your equipment."

I realised I had one question, and the words crawled past my lips before I could clamp them coldly shut. "How is Caomh?"

Jarlaxle didn't even blink, and to my surprise relinquished the information without complaint or comment. "Recently recovered from...the after-effects of your little jaunt to the Braeryn, and when I last saw him, he was demanding to know why he had to stay in bed and was harassing the healers." 

I nodded in obligatory thanks, and turned to go. The last I ever saw of him, he was seated in that chair before the cell, playing with what looked like a paper jarlaxle – from then on he seemed to make a point of avoiding me.I didn't really wonder why, but felt thankful for it – Jarlaxle occasionally unnerved me.

**

True to his word, I got back my equipment, or if they'd removed any, I didn't notice. Made a pest of myself by slowly and pointedly putting everything back on except the concealed knives, then was courteously but firmly escorted out of the Clawrift headquarters, and when finally left alone (read: watched by concealed sentries) I put down the bag of knives, carefully, then stretched out my hand and dropped the glass globe.

It smashed satisfactorily into a hundred fragments, and I picked up the figurine and put it in a pocket, managing to cut my thumb in the process. I called Halsshar between muttered curses and sucking the injury.Frankly I had no idea why I did so – possibly because the part of me addicted to life noticed that if I staggered back like this I would probably get mugged on the way, and dazed as I was, I wouldn't be able to defend myself.

The hell hound appeared behind me, as was customary - I only noticed his presence when he commented, "Do try to be more careful. Having the likes of you as a partner is profoundly embarrassing."

I decided not to frame a rebuttal, and tried to keep myself from flinching in surprise. "What date is it?"

He told me. I rubbed the hollow between my right eye and my nose. "_Lloth_. I'd spent that much time unconscious? Then why do I not feel hungry, or thirsty..."

Halsshar managed to shrug. "Azrael knows. You _Ilythiiri_ are strange.What would surprise me is if you were to suddenly gain intelligence, but one cannot have everything."Glowing red eyes could not betray any emotion, but I felt that the look he was giving me was fully of wary curiosity, for a reason I could not fathom.It sort of reminded me of the look on Jarlaxle's face when I'd first woken up.

We made our way back to my office in silence.Once we reached the door he snorted and vanished.

Suddenly too tired to wonder why, I stumbled in, ready to fall asleep in my chair if need be, and to my annoyance found the Matron ensconced in it.Wearily I leaned against the door, letting it shut with a disapproving thud.

"_Vendui, __Qu'el'velguk," she peered over the sheaf of papers she was going through.Oh, __vith…had I left anything that could be incriminating? I definitely did __not feel up to a lecture._

"_Vendui, __elamshinus uss," I replied with as much formality as I could muster."I…"_

"I know exactly what you have been up to," she replied flatly."I seem to remember forbidding you to go out of the House until you had healed completely…"

Actually, she hadn't, but I didn't want to quibble – she might just launch into one of her tirades.So I kept meekly quiet until she ran out of metaphorical steam and contented herself with glaring at me.

The silence got as acutely and as uncomfortably sharp as a scythe swung at oneself.Finally she relented, and got up from my chair."You are granted rest for a period of time – two cycles…make use of it, or I'd send soldiers to drag you to the House and…"

She spent the next few minutes detailing what she would do, and needless to say I wasn't listening.Matron Ilith'vir had an imagination both perverse and wild.Made little obsequious noises until she ran out of images and stood up to leave.She was letting me off for two cycles? Oh, _heaven…sometimes, just sometimes, Matron Ilith'vir's non-psychotic personality peered out from those pretty eyes, and made being the Ilith'vir __Qu'el'velguk and general sniffing hound seem a better option than turning rogue._

"May…may I ask a question?" I cursed my mouth and my curiosity, but the words slipped out.

"You _may."_

"What happened to the snake?"

I'd assumed she knew – and she did.She pursed full lips painted a deep red."The Academy sent representatives to take a look.Those that went in were thrown out in several pieces.Then suddenly everything was back to normal, so they left after wandering around the now-empty Braeryn for a time.Assuming that they had chased it away, the idiots."

"Then…then where did it go?"

"Stop stammering," she said automatically, "Or I'd tear out your tongue with my whip.I have no idea where it has been, and reputedly, neither does Dyrr, who is pretending very hard that nothing happened.It is unclear what happened to him.Now rest.You may use that purse on the table if you would prefer one of the rooming houses to this kobold-hole of yours."And with that parting shot she flounced – there's no other word for it – out of the office.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, enjoying, as I always did after she'd left the immediate surroundings, the delicious, intoxicating silence.

Then methodically, I locked the door and fell asleep in the chair.

**

I spent the next two cycles recovering at Symeera's, a good rooming house that permitted humans.Why pick this sort of rooming house over Ilitree's, the exclusively drow, luxurious one? Well…I don't mind the ugly creatures…and in Symeera's there's always chance for one of those human-invented card games which is one of my few vices (I hold that my vices are few, no matter what the Matron might believe).Most humans can be genuinely affable if you're amiable to them – compared to my kin.

I still seemed to be drifting off at times, but thankfully my mind only wandered off when I was alone in my suite.I didn't know why – perhaps Bregan D'aerthe had forced something into me, or perhaps it was some post-traumatic after-effect.But by the second cycle I was better, rested, and feeling more alive than I had been for a long, long time.

One more thing I liked about places like Symeera's is that no self-respecting drow female priestess would come into them and none of the haughty, unbearable males either.I spent those two cycles in a mood as close to happiness as I've ever been.

Only one curious incident – that of the Do'Urden weapon master near the middle of the cycle, sans little Vierna.Laughing with some humans that looked as though, from their weapons, they had come from far-off Skullport, genuine laughter, and not the sneezing cough that precludes some deception of a sort.And they were speaking the human's tongue – one that I understood and spoke, of course, but didn't expect _him to.__Not another surprise – my life seemed full of them lately._

I approached the table curiously, and about a few arms' length away, the conversation stopped and all of them turned around to stare.I bowed from the neck."_Vendui Zaknafein Do'Urden."_

He nodded curtly at me."_Velguk, what are __you doing here?"_

"Recovering," I folded my arms in the universal gesture."I had some trouble in the Braeryn."

Zaknafein narrowed his eyes."Ah yes, Jarlaxle told me about that…problem…that also involved Caomh, yes?"

"He chose to come," My voice did not sound defensive at all."What are _you doing here?"_

Zaknafein glanced around the table, and the side of his mouth flicked upwards for a moment."Hard as this may be for you to believe, _velguk, I __do happen to have friends."The humans around the table murmured with good-humour.I considered asking more questions and decided not to waste my time here – bowing, I wandered back to cards.My attention stayed with them, though._

The large, taller-than-Uthegentel human spoke first."Sure you don't want to come?"

A chuckle, Zaknafein's."I can't leave the city."

"Sure you can.They'd never be able to find you – and you're male, common-born.There won't be much of a pursuit." The rat-faced one, now."The Underdark will swallow you whole."

"Perhaps that is what I am afraid of." Zaknafein said dryly.By the Spider Queen, he'd just made a _jest…"I can't leave my daughter."__My daughter? Lloth, some drow…Zaknafein was older than I was, and in some matters he was still so stubborn._

"Take her, then." I couldn't identify the owner of this voice without turning to look, which would be too obvious.

"Zedraki, did you imbibe too much mushroom wine? If I were to escape, myself, there would be pursuit. If I were to leave with Vierna – noble born, _female, given to Lloth, there would be worse than pursuit.A hunt – and us __Ilythiiri never give up when we put our minds to something."_

The tone of his voice seemed to invite no further discussion, and the topic switched to weaponry.

Very interesting, but at this time I was trying not to be _ragar noamuth, so I didn't let my mind dwell on it.It explained, in part, several incidents that happened many centuries after this.(Yes, I am aware that this constant reference to the future is annoying.Humour an old drow.It's not like I'm deeply obliged to write these __vithin journals anyway.)_

**

I spent the next few years doing small cases – locating missing persons, checking up on possible fraud, cons, and scandals – things that made an RN's life so much more exciting.I could use some safe excitement after the fracas with that snake.Tylinyl made the occasional reappearance in my private life, and though Matron Ilith'vir never seemed to approve, she didn't show any disapproval either.It would never be serious, and both of the females knew it.

Halsshar and I settled on a relationship – I shared with him, he threatened me, and slowly, painfully, we got used to each other's sense of humour.Llyrx never really got used to Halsshar – the Dreix imp was always convinced that the hell hound wanted to eat him, even if Halsshar had repeatedly said that Dreix imp tasted like bloat-toe, a particularly disgusting and smelly type of mushroom.

Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned that.Llyrx was sure to wonder _how Halsshar knew imps tasted that way…in any case, I'd managed to argue that I didn't need Dreix imps any longer, since Halsshar had some picture-memory-hologram spell.Matron Ilith'vir had reluctantly agreed, to Llyrx's relief._

A few years of successfully staying out of Matron Ilith'vir's personal space – about a hundred paces – then one day I received a communication disc from her.Go to the Office.Now.And stop drinking.

I wasn't drinking…but now I felt like it.Muttering, I put the figurine in my pocket and sidled away from my office after I sent the obligatory _Yes Matron, At once Matron reply.Skulking off to the House._

I didn't dare to take my time, so I jogged.Running was noticeable and undignified – besides, if I presented myself panting and out of breath in the Office, the Matron might just decide that I needed more fitness training.This way, if I took too long, I might just be able to get a riding lizard out of her…

The landscape passed like a numb blur.What did she want me there for? Either a major lecture, or a major case – small ones would be given to me via comm disc.Major lecture…I tried to remember if I had did something insalubrious in the past few cycles.The worst offence I could remember was snooping around the gambling dens to find someone for a case, but the Matron could never be bothered to lecture me for _that sort of thing._

Major case…but I had not heard of any monumental events in Menzoberranzan lately.Still, if it were truly serious it would probably be secret.

No theorising without data, _ragar noamuth._

I reached the main gates, smiling and nodding to the guards, accepted the restrained fawning and the Your Matron is Waiting reminders, then sauntered off towards the Office, levitating upwards to a certain balcony that had sculptures traced in veins of adamantite.This section of the House was always relatively quiet, with the occasional scurrying member rushing on some errand.The busier bit was the reception area and the consultation area.I went up to the higher floors, where the floor was cold marble.

The starkness of the supposed 'elite' floors always struck me as unusual.A lack of the decorations I'd seen in all other Houses.Only the carved doors and the marble floor – no small tables, no amusing exhibits, no tapestries.And that smell of healer-rooms – sterilised, hot water, soap.

Predictably the Office double doors were at the very end of this corridor, from the staircase.Long walk, unwanted page prince memories surfacing like blood welling from a cut.The nauseatingly smug sister that smirked and pointed while I scrubbed the floor, the constant _You missed a spot comments, the other females laughing and praising her._

Old times.

**

Matron Ilith'vir didn't bother with pleasantries."A new case, and one I do not want to see you _vith up.You are aware of the drug problem in Menzoberranzan."_

I held back cocky answers along the lines of 'when have you ever seen me _vith up a case?' and simply nodded.Advanced a tentative opinion: "There has been a drug problem for many years."_

"It's worse.Once it was just the _iblith of the street that took devil dust, Vhaerun nail, d'harya, whatever they could buy with money they stole.There seems to be a new supplier – the drugs are easier to acquire – many street corners, many little places, and curiosity has claimed a few.Some ranked males, students, __priestesses."_

Aha.The disgust was palpable in her sharp, businesslike voice.She didn't even bother to use the normal female-to-male attitude.

"You want me to find the supplier?" That seemed easy enough – trace the transactions, burn down the place, kill him, whatever.Hardly worth a trip to the Office.I risked a sidelong glance at the furniture – rich, luxurious, unlike the emptiness outside.Furs, carpet, carved furniture, even imports from the Surface and Skullport – wooden chairs, paintings and such, all displayed under the dim light.Her inner sanctum.I felt distinctly out of place, like a drow in an all-dwarf city, as I always did when I had to come here, and was nearly consumed by an urge to run away back to my nice, messy office.

"Not as easy as you may think.He, or she, works carefully – dealers apparently just 'find' a new crate-load in their warehouses.Money to be put in the same spot."

"Get rid of the dealers?"

"_Qu'el'velguk, have you any idea how much the drugs are worth?One standard-sized crate alone could be worth several hundreds of thousands of coin.Adamantite coin.There will __always be dealers."_

"Who's paying?" Religious as the Matron may be – she'd never take this sort of case out of righteous indignation.

"The Council.Not paying – an _order." Ah, perhaps the reason for all that tight fury.Someone had leaked information about Ilith'vir Investigations to the Council of Eight.Very, very bad…not that they didn't know we existed, but the information wasn't __official.__Officially, Investigations didn't exist.__Officially, House Ilith'vir was just a normal, non-noble House.Since quite a few ranking personages didn't like the idea that so much information was at the tip of a non-noble House._

How could this hurt us? Well, if they _used us this way, without __paying, we might well be forced to do more jobs for them, non-paying jobs, for the glory of Lloth.Sniffing hounds for any noble-House Matron with a grievance, sniffing away for free because if we turned into a tool of Lloth, then all of her Most Favoured would be free to use it.In a few centuries, House Ilith'vir would no longer even be seen as a House, but as a service.I could feel myself getting angry as well.Blood flushed into my cheeks, in hot and furious pricks._

"Then why put me on it, if the Council requested it?" Letting a male do the job might well be seen as an insult.

"I told them you were our best," the Matron glanced back down at her desk, and long fingers arranged papers."Do not disappoint the House.The Council accepted it – they want this cleared up."Rather intelligently done – in blandly stating that a _male was the best that Investigations had, and that a __male would be the best that they would give, then she had established that Investigations would not enjoy being a dog for the Council.And some female priestesses might think that Investigations would not be worth the trouble to look up and ask for 'favours'._

Of course I wasn't the best.We both knew which of us was, when all was said and done, but the Matron obviously didn't want to take the trouble to actively head the investigation.That was fine by me.

Anger still burned in me, though.I hated this city at times.

I nodded."Would you have…suggestions as to where to start?" 

"Let's hear yours first."

"Visiting the warehouses," I said promptly, "Speaking to some of the dealers, to see if they had some contract or other on getting these sort of supplies, check the type of writing to try and see which race did it, then running over one of them with the magic-indicator.It may not be the…mastermind, or masterminds, but it may give some indication of what we may be dealing with.Next perhaps to see if a lot of money had been spent lately in some of the luxury shops by a single or small group of…beings."The last was sort of a guess."Then some old-fashioned surveillance."

The Matron smiled briefly.Approval, perhaps."Keep the House updated.And try to cow one of the contracts into allowing you to watch one of the placement areas at the normal time of teleport – we have descriptions, but you may notice something else.Take a mage with you, a good one.Get him to try and put up some sort of teleport block on the place, a strong one, to see if the masterminds still attempt to break it.If they can, this may be some gauge of their ability.The mage might be able to identify the spell if he is learned enough.And if there is some magical backlash from your being there – those who tried to watch the teleport of crates have been found burned black and dry as husks – he should be able to shield you."

There was an obvious flaw in that suggestion."We don't _have such a mage."_

The Matron chuckled at some private joke."We do.Nalfein Do'Urden."

"_Do'Urden?" Not again! I've had just enough of Zaknafein's House…they were turning up everywhere I went, like maggots to corpses!_

"I told the Council we needed a mage.Since they want to keep this drug issue quiet – not good to let surrounding cities or habitations know of this…a perceived weakness in Menzoberranzan may invite disaster.Hence they had to get a good mage who did not have any sort of high rank.Fewer questions asked.No Masters, no Magelords.There were a few shortlisted, but the ambitious Matron of Do'Urden was the first to volunteer her _precious __Qu'el'faeruk.With a great show of expression on how willing she was to serve the Spider Queen." The last few sentences were mocking.I hid a smile successfully – actually Matron Ilith'vir and the Matron of Do'Urden shared several similarities._

"She knows?"

"No.No one knows of this…job except Investigations and the Council.Do'Urden only knows that the Council requires a good mage for some secret, _honourable activity."More barbed amusement."You may find the mage hanging on to you even after he has completed his activity.The Matron may wish one of her House scions to be involved in the solution of the case.Make him do his job first – after that, try to brush him off.__Politely, mind.If that is within your capabilities."_

I ignored the sarcasm."And what is Do'Urden's _Qu'el'faeruk's opinion of this?"_

"If you wish to believe Matron Malice, he is simply overwhelmed with the honour." Matron Ilith'vir smiled a wicked smile._Of course."But mages, good mages, resent being Council lackeys.You might have to…sweet-talk him somewhat.Oh, and try to swear him into secrecy.Knowing us drow, that may not be of much worth, but it is conventional."_

I grimaced.I didn't want a cranky, powerful mage on my hands over everything else.

"At most, pull rank," the Matron dismissed my doubts."Matron Malice may already have cowed her mage into submission.Though from what I know of Nalfein Do'Urden, that may be unlikely."Fellow was known to have an independent streak – which was normal, all mages had that to some degree.But Nalfein had made friends, or at worst allies, of certain drow seen as not-exactly-favoured – and all male.Foolhardy?

"What has the Council done?"

"Not much.They've only used tried, time-honoured procedures – tortured a few, executed a few.Nothing.The only useful information they have come up with is a list of the most important dealers, and the locations."

"My resources…"

"Take whatever you want.This has to be solved," the Matron reiterated, her eyes hard."If we do not find the source of this…trouble, the Council has implied that House Ilith'vir will fall.Hard."

"But our information on Houses…"

"Will not help us if they are determined to destroy us, and you know it.It would be an empty revenge if the House and Investigations had already been eliminated.The Council has enough might to do it quickly enough, before we can gather the necessary…information we have to keep and scatter."

I sighed deeply, and rubbed my right eye."Damn.Perhaps the source isn't even in Menzoberranzan.Some _vith in some other city, maybe even in the Underdark, sending little caravans into the city."_

"Another point, _Qu'el'velguk – I will get some of our agents to watch the main entrances into the city.Perhaps check the caravans."I disregarded the urge to ask the Matron to get the Council, with all its resources, to get guards to check the caravans.Trade from the outside was an important part of Menzoberranzan's economy._

"How? We cannot possibly look in every single…"

The Matron rolled her eyes to the ceiling for patience, something that she probably did nearly every time she met me."We have creatures that may be able to _smell the drugs.I'd get someone to try the Dreix imps, if not, we may always get some other sort of help.Perhaps the air elementals – they are unnoticeable enough if they wish to be.At least they would be able to __look inside containers."_

The air elementals.That artifact in the storerooms, a trophy of an earlier case.Good idea…

"However, if they are in the city…"

"Drugs are not easily made or grown, and large patches of land in the city growing drug-crops would have been noticed a long time ago.It _has to be imported."_

"_Qu'el'velguk, did you notice __how many little, unguarded tunnels lead into the city?"_

I lowered my head for a moment, annoyed at having forgotten this fact."Then checking the entrances…"

"We have to _try.As it is we will station creatures in some of the better-known non-guarded tunnels."Matron Ilith'vir looked stressed.Time to back off a little._

"What happens if…when we find them?"An operation big enough to trouble the Council had to be run by several beings.

"Inform me.I will inform the Council." Matron Ilith'vir leaned back in her chair."Nothing else? Start work, _Qu'el'velguk."_

"One more thing…where do I pick up our new mage?"

"Look in your office."

"When do I get mage-locks?" I tried to look injured.

She smirked."If Nalfein is as good as he is reputed to be, none we can buy would be worth the earth on your boots."

"Do I have a time limit?"

"Nothing was mentioned about a time limit, but if we make them wait too long…" She didn't finish the sentence.She didn't need to.

On cue, I felt the first twinges of a bad headache.

**

True enough, the quiet Do'Urden _Qu'el'faeruk was standing inside the office.The door had been locked and undisturbed.I had Halsshar with me for intimidation purposes, but the mage looked unimpressed.He also looked bored, mildly annoyed, and weary.I'd expected this, but something got me to change the strategy I'd devised on my way here._

"Firstly, I do not wish to work on this case as much as you do," I spoke before he could start on the obligatory pleasantries."Secondly, the Council wants it solved quickly, so I will try to solve it quickly.So if you have any intention of…"

"My intentions match yours," Nalfein interrupted, his voice habitually soft, but here, edged.He hesitated, then expelled the air from his lungs in a long breath."What would you want me to do?"Reluctant – this mage was proud, but not unbearably so.

"This case is confidential…"

"I know.I have sworn oaths before the Council." Nalfein's mouth twitched.Contempt, perhaps? Anyway, this habit of his of interrupting my speech could get annoying.In any case, I told him what he had to do.

He grimaced."Menial work.The teleport block is easy enough – any that would be able to break mine may already narrow down your field of search.I can do better – perhaps I can trace the teleport to the source.And as to shielding – from the description of the victims, it sounds like a simple type of backlash ward."

"I admire your confidence," I said dryly, patting Halsshar."But this is _my skin…"_

"At the worst, you die.My Matron stated that if I failed in any of my duties to this 'case', she would resurrect me and subject me to the worst torments she can devise.The duties, apparently, include protecting you."Nalfein smiled without humour.With that expression, robes that were just ornate enough for a _Qu'el'faeruk but not for a Master and above, and the typical mage staff, he seemed to be a quintessential House mage, neither student nor Master, rank uncertain, never truly content but having to appear so…_

Now that this was established, I was uncertain of what sort of working relationship to have with the mage.Definitely not with him as the superior.As equals?

Halsshar decided for me.He padded forward, circling Nalfein, whose only sign of apprehension was gripping his staff more tightly.The hell hound sniffed loudly, then wandered back to me."Not too bad, for a drow mage."

Nalfein stiffened.

I had to fight not to laugh out loud.As it was, a snicker slipped past my lips, but I covered with a cough and a snort."When would you learn to set different standards for mortals and immortals, _abbil?" I had no intention of revealing Halsshar's name to Nalfein.Certainly my reference to the hound as __abbil made him blink._

Another sniff."Probably when you learn to introduce me to your associates."

I winked at Nalfein."Fine.This is a Greater hell hound.Don't get your robe into a twist because of something he says.He never says anything of actual value."

"I'd bite you later," Halsshar shook himself.Years ago, he would have.

"_Tlu kyone, __abbil, I may bite back," I bantered.Nalfein was beginning to look confused.I didn't blame him._

"May you catch the wasting disease and die painfully," Halsshar retorted."Can we start on this investigation of yours? It'd be too much trouble for me to have to find and train a new partner if the Council gets impatient."

I looked at the list, then gave it to Nalfein, deciding that a relationship of equals would probably be the best in these circumstances."What do you think?"

"One of those near the Braeryn may be better," Nalfein read carefully."Perhaps poorer and easier to intimidate."Exactly what I'd been wanting to say, but perhaps the mage would feel better about having to work under a male of a lower House, and a fighter at that.

"I like him already," Halsshar offered.Nalfein raised an eyebrow.I decided to intervene.

"You're beginning to sound like Llyrx."

"Must be your influence."

**

The warehouse was crawling with bugs.

Shuddering, Nalfein seated himself next to me, behind a particularly tall stack of crates.Holes in one of them allowed us to look at the blank spot where the next 'delivery' was supposed to arrive.We'd got in with little resistance – intimations of possessing the favour of several High Priestesses had melted the owner of the warehouse as quickly as white flame would melt ice.The owner was drow, of course – one of the lesser races might squeal if the masterminds sought to probe, but drow, fearful of backlashes from the Spider Queen, might be harder to prise information out of.

I had my doubts that the masterminds were drow.If they were, Lloth would have already directed her priestesses to take action.Perhaps.Especially if they were worshippers of the Spider Queen.If they were worshippers of other Gods, the priestesses would be led to them all the quicker…but one never knew for certain.Lloth was Queen of Chaos, after all.

We waited quietly.Nalfein was restless, shifting every few minutes, but noiselessly enough.He had created a teleport block and a tracing spell that would activate if the block was touched.This would probably alert the masterminds – but Lloth knew that with all the extremely _subtle blundering of the Council, they probably knew of their interests already. _

Another implication that we weren't facing drow? Drow did not like to incur the wrath of priestesses, even if they happened to be mages from Mage-ruled Sshamath.Lloth occasionally took an interest in her people.

Time passed very slowly.Halsshar had disappeared into his figurine, and neither Nalfein nor myself felt like engaging the other in conversation, so we sat in silence that was hopefully companionable.I resigned myself to counting the number of bugs that walked across the teleport area.From the murmuring and gestures from Nalfein, he was amusing himself by building shields and his teleport block.

I'd reached several hundred, losing count several times, and was considering counting just the beetles, or maybe the dancing moths that fluttered uncertainly, mere dots of colour in the infrared.

Then Nalfein poked me tentatively in the shoulder.I turned, pushing the irrational annoyance at losing count _again out of my mind._

He signalled in the hand code._The teleport blocks have been broken.Blocks, plural – more than one powerful block broke…oh, __vith._

_They seem to have been expecting the blocks.The break-spell would have taken time to perform…_

_I hate information leaks.Why can't we ever sneak up on someone? Why do they always know…ah, vith__.Anything else that…_

Nalfein's impatient fingers betrayed his surprise._The tracers have been dispelled._

_Dispelled?_

_It does not take much magic.But it does take a learned and experienced mage…one must be very observant…_

_Speaking of observant, I hurriedly looked back through my spy-hole.Still nothing. From the sound of shifting fabric over fabric, Nalfein was looking through his too._

Then bright fire roared down at us.I felt the heat on my back and head, flinching upwards to look on instinct, in time to see the column of tight, blue-white flame swirling madly down…

**

Translations and References:

_Abbil: friend._

Council/Council of Eight: These drow priestesses appear in the books with annoying regularity, so you should be familiar with them.Usually they don't sully their hands with 'material' incidents, but I supposed that a big drug problem should eventually come to their 'privileged' attention.They're the top eight Houses.Actually this non-noble/noble thing of Salvatore's doesn't seem particularly consistent to me – in the books it's implied (unless I've been asleep) that so long as you are a scion of a House, you're a noble.However, in the Menzoberranzan box set, only if you are a scion of a House whose Matron sits on the Council, _then your House is considered a 'noble' one.I'm sort of taking the Menzoberranzan box set rules._

_Tlu kyone: Be wary._


	7. Part 7

Part 7

I threw up my hands into what would be an ineffective shield against the flame, but no searing heat came to melt the flesh off my bones. Cautiously I looked up – the flames were sleeting off above me, like water flowing over an upturned metal bowl.

I glanced once at Nalfein, to thank him, but he was still calmly looking through the peep-hole. Guiltily I did the same – muttering in my mind about mages and their confidence – but the crate had already appeared. Cursing quietly, I made as if to stand up, since the flames seemed to have receded, but the large globe at the tip of Nalfein's staff suddenly rested firmly against my stomach. I looked down.

_The flame is only the beginning,_ Nalfein commented, fingers graceful now, with relief, glancing up. _The teleport spell seems conventional. _Great, why do I always get stuck with people who are so full of their dramatic worth?

_Is that good or bad?_ I looked around warily, sitting down. The globe retreated. The fire hadn't even charred surrounding crates or the ground, and for a ludicrous moment I thought I had imagined it.

_Bad – it means that the mage could be of any species._ Nalfein rubbed the globe with what could actually be affection. Blue-white fire twisted inside like a mortally wounded snake. It appeared extremely familiar.

_Thank you for extending my number of suspects to infinity. The fire… _I gestured at it.

_This staff can suck in magical energy._ Nalfein stroked the globe. Fire swirled into a vortex that seemed to be pulled down into the staff itself, and one of the polished gems embedded into it glowed brightly for a moment, like a vestigial fireball. The globe now looked like any other crystal sphere. Nalfein looked around, then created a dim mage-light.

_Must be useful_. I cringed as tendrils of transparent gray appeared, which had been invisible in infravision. Languid and thick as they pawed and slithered over our shields, like the tips of playful dragons' tails.

Nalfein studied one with interest. _I have not seen these before._

_Good for you! Hurry up and get rid… _

He pushed the globe of his staff out of the apparent shield radius, and immediately the tendrils flowed over and writhed over it. Nalfein attempted to prod one of the tentacles, but the globe passed through it. He sighed. _Insubstantial._

_That makes it worse…_ I looked down at the floor nervously. They might be able to go under and up… 

_The shield applies downward under us as well,_ Nalfein's fingers twitched in sharp reproof. Without warning, the tendrils were pulled into the globe, the panicked clawing on the wood as they were drawn in leaving little patterns of furrows, and now tiny, seemed to push frantically against the walls, before being sucked into the staff. Another gem glowed brightly for an instant.

_Any more wards?_ I looked around nervously.

_I can feel none. _

I nodded and we stood up, breaking the shield. I crept cautiously over to the crate, on the lookout for traps, and finding none, tentatively took out the indicator paper and waved it over the crate. The normal Underdark background magic was nearly taken over by a flood of dark yellow-purple in varying hues. I recognized the shade with a sinking heart, but to make sure, I took out another strip of paper and touched it to the crate. More yellow-purple, more intense. _Vith_.

Nalfein tugged at my sleeve, still using the hand code. _Well?_

Illithids. At least four.

Nalfein ground the end of his staff on the ground in disgust. _Mind magic._

_Wonder why they haven't tried to blast us._

Nalfein rolled his eyes. _They did._

Oh? I did not know a non-psychic could defend against mind magic…

And you are correct.

What? I stared at Nalfein with new respect.

He smiled. _My Matron does not wish to make that well known. My father is…was of House Oblodra. Matron Malice's promiscuity does have strange results, yes?_

Very frank. I replied, making a note to mention this to Matron Ilith'vir. _Now, a teleport back to House Ilith'vir would be appreciated. _

The courtyard?

We have no official courtyard. Outside the gates to the House proper.

I pictured the gates, and Nalfein muttered something. The landscape changed dizzily, as if I'd entered some whirlwind that cleared to deposit me in front of my House. The guards looked warily at Nalfein, but opened the gates. We were probably expected. They were nice about our appearance though – they even pretended not to notice while I staggered around dizzily waiting for my digestive system to catch up.

When the gates closed behind us I was prepared to levitate upward onto the high interior balcony that led to the Office, but to my surprise the Matron Ilith'vir was standing in front of us, arms crossed. "Report," she told me, ignoring Nalfein. Probably putting him in his place – Nalfein certainly took it quietly.

I told her what had transpired. She pursed her lips. "Illithids. This may be easier. Fewer of them."

"There may be groups we do not know of," I reminded her, thinking of the _alhoon _group I had been unlucky to encounter those years ago.

"True, but there is a high chance they are in Manyfolk."

"Well yes, that just gives us a few hundred square…"

"No need for that tone," the Matron said sharply. The snakes at her waist hissed. "Well. There may be difficulty tailing illithids, since they sense minds. I see that House Oblodra may have to cooperate further…"

"The _alhoons_ may keep track of illithid groups in the city that have this amount of magic at their disposal. I can try asking them," I grimaced. I hated _alhoons_. "If they would help." If I didn't get my brain eaten, get turned into a mindless living zombie, or just generally insulted. The last one was certain.

"Threaten them if they do not," the Matron folded her arms. 

"Yes, very friendly," I muttered. "I just can't _wait_ for my brain to be sucked out by undead tentacles."

She didn't comment, if she'd heard it. "Lloth, perhaps if you speak with them they would run away to help the illithids. I believe I will speak with them myself. You will have the privilege of looking through our files."

"Can I look in the luxury shops first?" All that work with paper…

"No. Start. And no 'delegation of work' to the commoners – the fewer know intimately about this situation, the better," The Matron pretended to notice Nalfein for the first time. "Ah, Nalfein Do'Urden?"

Nalfein bowed deeply, gracefully. A snide voice in me quipped that mages probably had to get a degree in 'Bowing Mysteriously and Not Tripping over Robes'. His rich robes pooled on the ground, rippling fabric like miniature waves frozen in an instant. Matron Ilith'vir allowed herself an appreciative smile at the gesture.

"Your task is complete, and well, if Ti'erlfein is to be believed…" I grinned at that. The Matron ignored me.

"If I am allowed to speak my mind…?" Nalfein asked respectfully.

"You may." Oh no, the Matron was giving Nalfein a Look. And me one as well, though the one I received was subtly different, hinting at later sessions along the lines of my current state of manners as compared to _certain_ males.

"If the…culprits are illithids, I may still be of use if we encounter one by accident," Nalfein didn't hide his distaste at being distracted further from - whatever mages did in their spare time - very well. Obviously unwilling, but since Matron Malice had commanded him…Matron Ilith'vir shot me a glance as if to say 'I told you so'.

Still. "He has some psychic ability," I decided this was the best time to tell Matron Ilith'vir about Nalfein's 'newly discovered' ability. And I definitely preferred a dark elf to an _alhoon_, and so far, I would prefer him to any of Oblodra's psionics, especially if they were female. Oblodra had a reputation, none of which was very good. "However, we could ask the _alhoons_…"

Matron Ilith'vir snorted. "The leader liked you, at least. For some reason which I still have to discern."

"Ah, something that appreciates me at last."

"The fact that he, or it, is undead may explain why, of course. Dying probably rots out most of one's brains. Still, they may have information we do not have."

"And they would have a motive to bring down any illithid group, at least." The Matron and I were playing mind games again…this time together against Nalfein, who was beginning to look dismayed.

"Since you are here now, you might as well help Ti'erlfein with the files. Two pairs of eyes." Matron Ilith'vir appeared to arrive at this thought suddenly – her eyes had widened, her full lips had stretched into a smile of apparent self-congratulation. I silently applauded her acting skills.

Nalfein, to my surprise, spoke up without 'permission'. "If you are to ask the… _alhoons_ already, then why check the files?"

"They might have missed something," Ilith'vir chose not to get theatrically angry. "And we are privy to information that they would not possess."

Nalfein was wise enough not to ask 'How?' which would have resulted in his painful death there and then. Ilith'vir didn't really look as dangerous as Uthegentel, but neither did a sleeping rock-snake look any more than a ridge of stone, and it was well known that she did not like questions about how Investigations operated.

"Now, go away." Ilith'vir turned her back to us and levitated upwards.

There was a pause while Nalfein looked around the Inner Square, where we were standing. Totally empty place – the business side was at the other end of the House. Reflectively, he murmured, "Your sister or your mother?"

"Sister. Unfortunately." 

Nalfein actually smiled. There was definitely something wrong with the Do'Urden bloodline. They were all nearly bearable…except possibly Matron Malice. But she was _female_, so that probably explained it. Vierna was a child and didn't count – yet. 

"I can see that. Was she…around when you were page prince?"

"Unfortunately. And she could talk by then. Something which she pushed in my face every single opportunity she got for all the years that I was free labor."

"I heard that, _Qu'el'velguk_." Matron Ilith'vir's voice drifted down, making Nalfein start involuntarily. I wasn't surprised, actually – she always manages to eavesdrop on conversations that involve herself. 

**

Nalfein wasn't allowed into the actual room where all the files were kept, so he got to sit in one of the semi-private meeting rooms under the House, where the traditional dungeons were supposed to be. We did have dungeons, of course – but they were usually just used as extra storerooms. On the other hand, I had the 'privilege' to look for the file on illithids in the big chamber and try to sort it out. 

Finally I just gave up and ordered some of the agents to help carry the entire section on illithid organizations/groups out to the room.

It filled a substantial corner, and proceeded to lurk. Nalfein sighed deeply. His profoundly injured "Menial work" incited a snicker from Yours Truly that turned into a breaking wave of laughter. After several tries of concentrating on the shine of my boot I managed to calm down, but the expression on his face set me off again…

"So what are we looking for?"

"All those with the red markings on the top right corner of their file. That's for the relatively high-power groups. We may have to look at the yellow marked as well, that's…" I sat down before the tiny mountain.

"There are _this_ many illithid groups?" His habit of interrupting sentences was getting mildly annoying.

"At present, no. These are all the groups that have ever existed in Menzoberranzan. It's not exactly very updated. We're more interested in keeping track of the higher-profile things that are more likely to cause trouble worth investigating. Illithids usually try not to cause noticeable trouble in drow cities, because we don't like them. Any excuse to go exterminate the lot of them would have been highly appreciated by any Ruling Council – though it'd take work, and there'd be casualties. Probably why our Council hasn't tried anything yet."

Nalfein came over and took the first file off the heap and flipped through the fragile parchment. At least the parchments in a file were arranged in order of date. He looked at the date. "This group was last active…five centuries ago. 'Not exactly very updated' indeed."

"They _could_ have been lying dormant, some groups…" I felt this inexplicable urge to defend the erratic filing system.

Nalfein made a show of glancing through the parchment on top, even going so far as to spin a globe of soft mage light above it. "The last activity of this one – eviscerated by a rival group and draped aesthetically near Donigarten. There's even a drawing. Very dormant." The mage light turned an accusing shade of red.

I sighed. The next few hours that stretched in front of me seemed positively _filled_ with pro-active fun. "You volunteered for this if I... "

Nalfein put the file aside and selected another one. "Right now I'm trying to see if the consequences of defying Matron Malice's orders or dying slowly from boredom is the lesser of two evils."

"You'd die either way," I looked through another file, then put it with the rejects. "This way you'd get to do it and drink at the same time." Clapping hands brought one of Investigation's minions, who scuttled out to find some mushroom wine after directions.

**

To my surprise, Nalfein _did _manage to help with slightly more than half of the designated parts of the pile before finally falling asleep on his side of the table. I didn't really blame him – it'd been a few Narbondel shades, the wine wasn't exactly mild, even if it wasn't strong, and the work was boring. He'd been nodding off for the past shade, but I was gratified that someone was helping me, so I kept my mouth shut.

For a brief moment I debated shaking him awake, but it would be extremely mortifying, especially for mages – I think the words 'magic' and 'ego' are synonymous with each other, not to mention that if he was anything like his House's Weapon Master, he might just react violently. And since he was tired, he wouldn't be of any use in further perusal of the work. If I made him go back to Do'Urden, he'd be pestered by Malice…

Ah, hell. He wasn't much of a disturbance, but he might as well be of some help… conscientiously I used his left hand as a paperweight, then lighted some candles as his mage-light flickered off.

**

I woke up with a bad crick in the neck, the sort one gets when one falls asleep at a cold stone table after a little too much wine, and a little too much reading of little words and in some cases, bad writing, by dim light. Actually, 'crick' was too insignificant a description. What about 'feeling as though something had twisted my spine several times, then tied a painful knot at the neck'? Yeah.

Grumbling to myself I stood up and massaged the complaining area, and realized that quite a few other spots began clamoring for attention. My eyes managed to focus into infrared in the darkness, and I finally noticed that Nalfein was gone. Further inspection of his seat showed that he'd been gone for a few shades – even the residual trace of infrared had disappeared. 

Shrugging philosophically, I relighted the candles and continued, after ordering some minions to get food and some hot and sweet drink. 

"Did you see where Nalfein Do'Urden disappeared to?" I asked, as an afterthought. I hoped that he hadn't taken it into his head to go wandering around Investigations. Nalfein may be annoying, but I wouldn't like to see the Matron kill him – he was useful, and marginally bearable.

The minion, whatever his name was, nodded. Sharp little eyes, like most other drow, and as with most of Investigations, filled with curiosity about me…and some disappointment. I don't cut a very impressive figure, especially with rumpled hair, bleary eyes and half-stifled yawns. "The Matron came in and woke him up, and they portalled somewhere." He winked. Ilith'vir's character was quite well known. I snickered, waving him off to get my food and drink.

**

Ilith'vir let Nalfein come back when I was on the home stretch of the workload. About a hundred more files to go through. Wordlessly I pushed him some, and he sat down to it. I figured he wasn't the sharing sort, and he would have been embarrassed if I asked about what had happened. Not that I was curious. Ilith'vir wasn't particularly discerning about her playmates – they just needed to interest her.

Now, why was I on that train of speculation? 

Heh, I know what _you'd_ be thinking. No, I'm _not_ interested in Ilith'vir. I think there's some sort of residual thing in my brain that makes me just this side of proper by drow standards, but I find that sort of thing disgusting. Not that it doesn't happen – this _is _a Lloth-ruled city, and the overwhelming majority of its inhabitants do happen to be _Ilythiiri_.

As I ate the unidentified mushroom stew, I pondered on how a lack of sleep and food and too much drink led to strange tangents of thought.

**

"Do you have any idea how long this would take?" We were now dividing the less-intimidating pile into 'Likely', 'Less-Likely' and 'Check when one has time'.

I rubbed my eyes, then looked up at him. "No. Yes. Bored already?"

Nalfein massaged the base of his neck, long fingers flicking away errant strands of white hair that tumbled over his ears. "Obviously. I was bored _before_ we even started."

I sighed. "Maybe we could look in on another… dealer. 'Tis nearly time again, in any case, to… "

"Whatever for?" Nalfein stretched luxuriously, then looked through the 'Likely' pile again, for the fifth time, though now he was surreptitiously paying attention to what I was saying. 

"Because they might have changed their MO, or they may not be all illithid. Perhaps that night just had…"

"MO?" Nalfein continued to paw through the stack, ostensibly oblivious.

"Modus Operandi. It means 'Method of Operation'." I said, without looking up from the file I had been checking. "Or, we could continue to stay here and stare through all these papers… "

"Let's go," Nalfein said hastily, rising to his feet.

"I knew you'd see it my way," I smirked. "Right. We might as well go to a non-drow dealer in a different place. There might be differences."

Nalfein sighed. "I hope it's still illithid, or we'd have just wasted all our time sifting through those files."

"You need to be optimistic in this line of work."

**

This particular dealer was in Manyfolk, and wasn't drow. A fawning duergar, actually, who was all too happy to help. At one point I was wondering if we had to kill him to get him off our backs, but he eventually got the message and left us alone in his warehouse, where we decided that since hiding didn't seem to work the last time, we might as well sit in the open where we'd have a clearer view.

_No bugs, _I signaled to Nalfein.

_Thank Lloth, _he replied, looking with some approval at the clean, spacious chamber. _It's damned difficult to get them out of layered robes. _He pointed at his clothes. Mage robes always looked so complicated to get on… and off, come to think of it. A nasty part of my mind wandered off on a speculation along the lines of how Matron Ilith'vir could have mustered the uncharacteristic patience needed to get Nalfein out of his clothes, but I quickly restrained myself.

Nalfein sat on the barrel next to mine, somehow managing to make his position look majestic and dignified, even in the current circumstances. Idly, his long fingers caressed his mage staff, and perhaps I was becoming delusional, but it seemed to be responding to him. Tiny pinpoints of bluish light seemed to gather wherever his fingers went, underneath the surface of the staff, like, to use a defective metaphor, flies to carrion. His expression was unperturbed, rather like the one he had been wearing when I'd seen him in Melee-Magthere so many years ago. 

I was debating on whether or not I should pose questions to him on his relationship with Zaknafein, just out of curiosity, when Nalfein fastidiously pulled at my sleeve. Wordlessly, he pointed – several swirls of gray, like smoke in a breeze, had materialized where the duergar had said the crate would appear. They seemed to flicker uncertainly, then abruptly a crate appeared.

_No wards?_ I asked Nalfein, my fingers betraying none of the surprise I felt after the last… heated… reception we had been subject to.

Nalfein shook his head, chewing on his lip. Slowly he looked around, and the grip he had on his staff tightened, then he shrugged. "No whips, and I can't sense any magical presence."

"Right," I said, fishing out a piece of indicator paper and walking towards the crate. Perhaps it was my heightened awareness of my surroundings, as I half-expected some intrusion, or perhaps just luck, but I realized there was something… wrong. Narrowing my eyes, I dropped to a crouch, and found after some scrutiny a hair-thin length of wire stretching in front of me, two paces away from the crate. A few steps more and I might have blundered into it.

Waving at Nalfein to stay put, I carefully followed one end of the wire slowly, observing for other traps, and found that the wire disappeared into a hollow in one wall. It took me a few heartbeats to find that one of the 'bricks' on the wall was actually a metal flap, and I gingerly used a knife to lift it up a little. There was a sudden, metallic sound, and a good-sized bump appeared in the metal. Using the knife to open it further, I sighed as a small crossbow-bolt dropped down harmlessly to clatter on the ground. It had been discharged into the metal flap with some force. I picked it up, thankful that I had remembered to wear gloves, and noted that the tip was discolored with some substance, probably poison.

Putting it in one of the padded evidence pouches in my carrying bag, I walked to the other end of the wire and found a curious symbol etched onto the wall, unnoticeable unless you were looking for something. To my annoyance I realized Nalfein was already studying it curiously. 

"Mage trap," Nalfein explained. "Just defused it. Rather clever – it went off when you took out the…whatever on the other end, but I managed to catch the beam of energy that it shot off." He nodded at his staff. "Was headed for you."

"Thanks," I acknowledged. We stepped over the wire, making notes to find and question that stupid duergar later, and arrived at the crate. 

This time, the indicator paper showed the red-purple of drow magic, a dark crimson compared to the scarlet of Nalfein's magic, which obviously also showed in lighter shades. "Drow magic," I told Nalfein.

He blinked. "Truly? How many?"

I grimaced. "One."

"What?" Nalfein seemed surprised. "But this one also broke through my teleport blocks - and I strengthened the block this time. He would have to be Master-level or better."

"That's what the paper says," I frowned. "Unless whatever is behind this somehow is able to influence the results."

"Can that be done?"

"To disguise a magic signature as another? It'd require a lot of magic." I paused for dramatic effect. "More than the mages in this city, I'd think." There was an inclement suggestion in my mind, which had to do with unpleasant events years past, and a large snake.

**

When we returned to the House, I suggested as much to the Matron. She pursed her lips, pretending to be surprised at this turn of events, but the lack of expression in her eyes told me that she had already considered this particular possibility. We were in her office, for lack of a better word, seated in front of her desk while she tapped her fingers on the table.

"The duergar?" she asked finally.

"Gone," I shrugged. "And when we opened the crate, it was empty except for this." I reached into my pockets and took out my small notebook, where I had pressed the small filament that I had placed in it for safekeeping. It was a tan-brown in color, soft, flexible and not unlike hair, about the length of my middle finger, though seemingly of a different consistency. I handed it to the Matron, who took it graciously.

"And that is…?" she frowned. The mage lights in their carved lamps near her desk glowed more brightly, and she held the filament up to her eyes. "A bird's," she concluded flatly. "From a feather."

Nalfein leant forward a little, a noiseless version of clearing his throat. "If you would pardon my suggestion, Matron…?"

"Yes?" Ilith'vir continued to inspect the filament.

"If it were from a bird, then it should stem from the beginning of the quill – and such a bird would have to be quite large." Nalfein ran a thumb over the globe of his staff. "Perhaps around the size of a…"

"Diatryma." I let out a sharp exhalation of breath. "Would you suspect…?"

Ilith'vir's eyes were narrowed. "Him? I would not have thought so. Baenre is also using them actively in this investigation, hoping that they would beat us to the solution. I have been tempted to fix it such that even if we did find out what happened, we could slide them the credit and remain in obscurity. Just that the price for apparent failure in the eyes of the Council may be too high to pay."

"May I ask who you are referring to, Matron?" Nalfein asked, inserting the correct amount of timidity in his voice.

Ilith'vir glanced at him sharply, then back at the filament. "No." The less outsiders knew of our involvement in other… things, the better.

Nalfein subsided. If he felt any resentment at this, he did not betray it in his expression or tone of voice. "_Asanque._"

Ilith'vir glanced at him from under half-lidded eyes for a moment, then twirled the filament around her finger. "It is also possible that this does not belong to a diatryma, or even if it did, has nothing whatsoever to do with him. Or, it could be a false scent…" she let it trail off for a moment, then seemed to arrive at a decision. "Years ago when I associated with him – while you, Ti'erlfein, were in a certain dungeon – it came to my attention that he had a certain tattoo on the back of his thigh," she said dispassionately. "It was in dark ink, and I would not have seen it under normal, non-lighted circumstances." 

My, the hints of what the Matron and Jarlaxle had done were quite _fascinating_. Nalfein looked even more mystified than ever.

"It seemed an odd place to put a tattoo, but what drew my attention to it was that it was a crude picture of a snake. It was thumbnail-sized and not as large or as complex as the predecessor I had seen. When I asked him about it, he professed an inability to see any tattoo, and seemed to be of the opinion that I was deluding myself." Ilith'vir smirked. 

"Information from him isn't always reliable," I said, rather unnecessarily as it turned out.

Ilith'vir shot me an irritated glance. "I have every reason to believe he was speaking the truth. The tattoo was invisible – at least to him. I had suspicions that it had something to do with him summoning some soldiers to enter the Braeryn and meeting the soldiers afterward when they said they'd seen the snake for the space of a heartbeat before it disappeared. However, there has been no conclusive evidence and the snake has not reappeared even after so many years, so I refrained from making it public knowledge."

"Is the tattoo still there?" I asked mildly. 

Ilith'vir snorted. "I intend to find out, though I doubt if he was truly involved, he would leave such painfully stupid – and obvious - clues. More likely that someone wished to implicate him clumsily, or that this has nothing to do with him at all. Now, the two of you can be more useful and go through the files – don't sigh, _Qu'el'velguk_ – and see if any of the illithid groups had any correspondence with drow."

"What, all of them?" I was distinctly aware of a whining undertone in my voice.

"Yes." Ilith'vir said maliciously. "We don't want to leave out any possibilities, do we? You would also like to look through the files on mages who might have been capable of that magical feat. After it you can go entertain yourselves by visiting another warehouse."

When we left her office, Nalfein sighed. "Is your life always this way?" he asked, as we levitated down from the balcony.

"You have _no _idea."

**

The files proved somewhat of a waste of time. None of the illithid groups seemed to have associated with mages of the power that fit our description, and as correspondence from the _alhoon_ group arrived, they confirmed that fact. They had also apparently planted spies in just about every illithid group large enough to be even a fraction of a threat to them, and according to their reports, none of the illithid groups had been involved in drug smuggling, nor were any, at the moment, involved with high-level drow mages. So if the _alhoons_ were to be believed, then that trail had just fizzled to an end, and we were back to where we'd started.

Nalfein was sulking when we visited our next warehouse – close to Narbondellyn, luxurious, and half-used for the storage of fine wines. As the obsequious proprietor left us, I considered nicking some of the bottles from their resting-places, recognizing brands that I could never afford. Even Nalfein seemed more animated at the sight of that bottled heaven, and we spent the time conversing on different wines – using hand-signals, of course. I let Halsshar out to stretch – the Greater hellhound had professed boredom at being involved, but I knew better.

This time, the crate appeared without any prior warning, and there were no apparent threats. 

The indicator showed the grungy yellow of shamanistic magic, and was apparently duergar. After I said as much to him, Nalfein rolled his eyes to the stone ceiling, muttering about how shamanistic magic would never be strong enough to break through his wards, while I tried to shut out the distinctly foul smell emitting from the crate. 

"Another fake, I think," I told Nalfein as I checked the crate for traps. "I wonder if there's a pattern. The first crate we saw had the goods, the second one, a filament, and the third one…"

The third one had a corpse inside, several hues of Narbondel into decomposition. It was a drow warrior, curled up in a fetal position, arms wrapped tightly across his chest as if in fear or pain. The face was totally blank of any expression, such that the figure seemed to be some badly carved statue instead of something that had lived. 

I muttered to myself as I checked the corpse, trying not to gag at the stench. "Average height, male dark elf, warrior – chain mail adamantite but no House colors. Armed with longsword belted to scabbard," I drew out some of the sword, checked the tiny markings at the corner of the hilt, and then sheathed it again. "Standard longsword for Bregan D'aerthe." I sighed. Yet another stupid clue. I looked at the rank-marks on his sleeve. "Bregan D'aerthe sergeant. Other weapons – hand crossbow with pouch of bolts, throwing daggers. Cause of death…" I looked over the body, frowning as I saw no marks until I pushed the hair away from the neck and saw two punctures in the skin. "A bite, possibly poisonous…"

"Poisonous," Halsshar interrupted. "From a snake, probably a cobra. It might not be too much to conjecture that said cobra is a blind spitting cobra." I glanced at it curiously, and he shrugged. "I can smell it, even through the rot. Some poison leaked onto the skin, so if you look a bit more closely you might find the skin is a bit inflamed. Though it's hard to tell with the black skin color of your kind."

"This is getting too obvious for my liking," I muttered. Nalfein was looking over my shoulder with interest, and he finally spoke up.

"Bregan D'aerthe is involved in this?" He pointed with his staff at the crate. "Curious. Then previously – you and your Matron must have been discussing Jarlaxle, no?"

Ah, Nalfein actually has a brain. "Could be," I replied, brushing off his question as I continued to inspect the corpse. "Valuables and purse still on the body. Apparently the killer was just interested in strewing another transparent clue our way."

"He's got something in his right hand," Halsshar spoke up again, "If you did not notice that it's tented out, not like the left hand."

Nodding my thanks to the hound, I prised his fingers open, and caught the object that tumbled out. It was a small, rectangular tile about two-thirds of a finger long and one third thick, in cloudy porcelain. In fact, it was a _sol'verna _tile, from the recently introduced gambling game which needs four to play, that had been gaining popularity in the gambling pits in Menzoberranzan. I'd never really understood it, but I knew that of the tiles, some had symbols, some letters, and some pictures. This one had a picture of a snake, twisted into a knot.

"The snake tile," Nalfein murmured. "I've played _sol'verna _before for the intellectual stimulation. If one gets that particular tile – it means that person is out of the game."

In the large, dry chamber, Nalfein's words seemed to reverberate off the walls with a hollow, ringing certainty.

--

Translations and References:

__

Sol'verna: As you probably noticed, I took the description of this game off the popular chinese gambling game known as _mahjong_. I don't really understand it myself, so I can't provide a detailed description of it. Actually, there is no such tile with such a capability in the game. I'm just making things up.


	8. Part 8

Part 8

"It's still there," Matron Ilith'vir said in an unemotional voice when Nalfein and I entered her office and took our seats, Halsshar having told us that he preferred to stay in the figurine and eavesdrop. "The curious thing is that I asked some others whom he had been… acquainted with and they did not see anything either. So either they were mistaken, which is unlikely, or that only I could see it. Very curious."

"So the snake is in Jarlaxle, then?" I said the first thing that came to mind. 

"Not too bad a choice, if it's concealment the thing wants. As a more or less powerful rogue male, the city at the moment is attempting to pretend he doesn't really exist. It might be 'in' him," Matron Ilith'vir conceded, "I dislike coincidences."

I reported to her what had been in the crate and gave her the _sol'verna _tile. She looked at it carefully, then put it daintily on her table. "As I said, I dislike coincidences. This investigation is beginning to remind me of the one you did several years ago, _Qu'el'velguk_ – the clues in the right places, obvious, and all pointing in one apparent direction." She frowned. "It's as though whatever is behind this is in contempt of our intelligence, and is bent on leading us on by the nose. I wonder how much of this report to give to the Council."

"They might just decide to kill Jarlaxle," I offered. Ilith'vir knew that Nalfein had guessed – correctly – that the rogue drow was involved in this mess, and I knew there was no problem if I dropped the cryptic tone a little. "With the host dead, this might cease to be a problem."

Matron Ilith'vir sniffed, and the tips of her full mouth lowered slightly. "I have no doubt that by now that scoundrel has made himself _invaluable_ to his affiliates," she said coolly, "Technically, in front of the Council, if I were to present full evidence and certainty that killing him would end the problem, he would be executed without delay – but we do _not_have that certainty."

"Unless you can somehow pin Jarlaxle in one place long enough to cut the designs of grafting we found on the first victim's body," I said, suppressing a shudder and the memory of the gory mess in the stalls, those few years ago. "Not to mention I really don't think he'd be very helpful, and I doubt we can obtain the _alhoon_ fluids."

"We have another problem," Ilith'vir said mildly, "Those addicted to the… drugs undergo severe withdrawal symptoms – you are acquainted with them, I should think – if they attempt to stop. So we have some perpetrators from within trying to stop this campaign. The Council, as far as I can tell, is as yet uncorrupted by the drugs, but there may be drow who have succumbed in their houses and whom are feeding information to the suppliers. That may be why you two have been targeted with the stupid clues, and why I can see the tattoo."

"They know Investigations is involved," I muttered to myself.

"Don't you ever listen to me, _Qu'el'velguk_?" Ilith'vir growled. Somewhere under the table, I could hear snakes hissing. Time to back off a little.

"My deepest apologies, _malla Ilharess_," I smiled ingratiatingly. Normally she'd lash out at this, but Nalfein was in the room, so she had to act like a 'proper' Matron and seem barely mollified at my cringing. 

"I've already had agents checking the luxury shops. There has been no new upsurge in buys by any new customer from the period of a few years ago to now… usually it's the same nobles, though some of them have certainly stopped, or decreased in purchase volume. It's possible that they've been spending their money on the drugs. So it's probably not a normal new drug dealer – a mortal one, that is, who would need to spend money on purchases… unless said dealer is using the coin to get items from other cities."

A horrible thought hit me. "Are there any in Investigations who have… sampled these drugs?"

"Any addicted, you mean," Ilith'vir looked amused. "There was one, but he was discovered before he could do any harm. I had him slowly eviscerated in view of everyone else in the House as a warning to them. So far I have checked several times personally, and have not found any of them using the drugs."

"At least the withdrawal isn't fatal," I grinned. "But even if we do stop this new… supplier, what's preventing those addicted from snapping up the drugs from other suppliers? With the demand increasing, there'd be new suppliers smuggling in drugs for sure."

"Council only wants us to find this supplier," Ilith'vir flicked a strand of hair away from her face. "So, we find it. After that, if they want us to find the other suppliers, I might have to start talking about expenses."

"Forgive me if this is imprudent," I said cautiously, "But why didn't you speak of expenses for this?"

"I did," she said dryly, "They said it was of no consequence. I intend to make them regret that enough to stop taking our services so lightly. Maybe this is the time to get you that riding lizard you're so intent on. Or do you want another pet? So long as you can justify it… "

I smirked. "Perhaps 'reduction in transportation problems'?" I glanced at Nalfein. Free portals. "I can make one up."

"I have no doubt that you can," Ilith'vir retorted, "That is why I always review _your_ expenses closely."

Faced with that, I had to change the subject. "What are we to do next?"

"Did you look at the tile closely?" 

"I don't play _sol'verna_," I admitted. "The tile seems to be some sort of cloudy porcelain…"

"The porcelain has a jade cover below, frozen into the porcelain" Ilith'vir picked it up and turned the tile over, showing that the thin, light gray-green layer was indeed jade. "While the snake design has been inlaid with a certain type of glass or semi-precious gem. I've seen _sol'verna_ tiles before, and this is definitely not one of the mass-produced ones." She tossed the tile back to me. "Find out where this came from. It's expensive, so you might want to look in Narbondellyn." With that, she proceeded to ignore the two of us, so we let ourselves out, feeling as though we'd just been cross-examined.

**

We were lucky. The third curio shop we tried in crowded Narbondellyn was the correct one. The harassed drow male shopkeeper was in the midst of fawning on several priestesses at the same time, showing a remarkable about of diplomatic tact and multi-tasking abilities, so we decided not to press our business on him for the time being, instead looking idly around the shop as if we'd meant to come in all along. At least Nalfein didn't look out of place, in his mage finery, but I was beginning to wish that my armor and clothing were just a _little_ more ornate – as it seemed, I looked more like Nalfein's bodyguard than his superior. The half-concealed, inquiring glances from the guards of the priestesses were getting embarrassing. At least _they_ weren't allowed into the shop, or it'd get too crowded.

Come to think of it, perhaps that was part of the problem.

Eventually the priestesses left, and the shopkeeper let out a sigh of relief before turning to us. "Yes, my Lords? How may I serve you?"

"Does this look familiar?" I gave him the tile.

The shopkeeper looked closely at it, turning it over a few times. "Why yes. I believe this belonged to a _sol'verna_ set called the Gray Jade that I sold yesterday. Why?" He turned suspicious eyes on us.

It took some word fencing and several reassurances that he was doing Lloth a favor and not betraying decent customer confidences for him to turn helpful again, and offer an approximate description of the customer. 

"I sold it to a mage," the shopkeeper said, "Dark elf, male an' all that… other than the description, there's nothing much else I can tell you."

"His hair style?" Hair styles often showed House differences.

"It was just tied into a short ponytail," the shopkeeper frowned, "Ain't no House I've heard who does that. He was also wearing some sort of medallion on the outside of his robes – adamantite, it was. The symbols on it – 'ere, I'd show you." The shopkeeper darted behind the counter and fished out a piece of paper and a quill. Under the mage light of the shop, he painstakingly drew out a crude by rather accurate approximation of the sigil belonging to Bregan D'aerthe.

This was _really_ becoming pathetic.

**

"I expected as much," Ilith'vir sighed. "_Vith_. I hate these sort of cases."

"Has the Council tried summoning… " I was about to say _yochlol_, except that Ilith'vir might just decide to lash out at me. She was just seething with fury, and searching for an outlet – I definitely didn't want that outlet to be Yours Truly.

"For petty, mortal affairs?" Ilith'vir raised one perfect eyebrow. "Of course not. Though your findings has proved quite sufficiently, in my opinion, that Bregan D'aerthe was not involved."

"What?" I blinked. "How… ah, I see. The corpse was not wearing such a medallion, but the mage was."

"The medallion exists, of course," Ilith'vir agreed, "But it is seldom, if ever, worn in public. Bregan D'aerthe has no need to advertise its presence, and members who wear the amulet openly tend to draw fire to themselves, if anything. It is more likely that someone unknown removed the amulet from Bregan D'aerthe headquarters, and that the only actual member of the band we've seen so far is the corpse in the crate. The amulet the shopkeeper saw might even have been his. Or, if somehow someone has managed to infiltrate Bregan D'aerthe and go posing around in the amulet. In any case, mages are not as common yet in the band." She shot me a significant glance, and I got the hint.

"More digging in the files," I sighed.

"I could go and ask Jarlaxle about the mage," Ilith'vir said thoughtfully, "Though he might get suspicious."

"He doesn't know of the investigation?"

"I'm sure he does," Ilith'vir said dryly. "But he might be suspicious as to why we keep poking at Bregan D'aerthe. I have no doubt that some agent of his entered the shop after you two did and asked the shopkeeper about what you found out."

"We impressed the 'keeper with the need for secrecy…"

Ilith'vir looked amused. "Do you underestimate them so much? There are any number of ways that one can get someone to talk – or tell you something without him meaning to. You know most of them."

**

I decided to go back to my office for a while. Sometimes when cases reach a dead end returning to the starting point helps lift flagging spirits and interest. Especially if said starting point has a few concealed bottles of good wine.

"We can read the file in here," I told Nalfein, as I unlocked and opened the office door, "Far enough from the House… oh."

Sometimes I wonder why I just shouldn't go ahead and install a curtain in place of the door, considering how people seem to get in and out of the office with ease, _vith_ them. Inside the office, on the desk, was a crate that looked annoyingly familiar. This one seemed to have holes for whatever was inside to breathe, and there were scrabbling sounds from the interior. There was a sudden thump, and the crate jumped a little to the left.

"What in the Nine Hells?" I growled. Recovering quickly, I looked around for traps. Seeing none, I walked cautiously towards the crate, brandishing a piece of indicator paper and feeling like an utter idiot. Behind me, Nalfein closed the door.

"I sense no wards," he said blandly. "Are we going to open the crate?"

The paper showed a murky azure-vermilion color. "I wonder why this creature is still bothering, whatever it is. It's another color again… this time I can't recognize it. We'd have to go back later and check." Stuffing the paper into my pocket, I drew my dagger and reached cautiously for the crate. 

When my hand was in a finger's length of touching it the crate jerked violently backwards, and tipped over the side of the desk. Whatever was inside let out a frightened squeal, then a pained one when it landed on the ground.

"Serves you right," I muttered. "Whatever you are."

With Nalfein's help, I succeeded in getting the lid open, and was immediately attacked by a flurry of fur, hooves and black. Sharp hooves managed to cut my cheek open, and I cursed until I managed to get a hold on the legs. Nalfein was muttering a spell somewhere, the creature was squealing in fury and attempting to bite, and I was trying to get a better grip on the kicking hindquarters.

Then the violence suddenly stopped. The thing collapsed on me, its little chest heaving. I could feel the hammering speed of its heart, and as I tried to catch my breath, I took a closer look at what it was.

It was the size of a month-old rothe calf, with four long, spindly legs ending with sharp cloven hooves, a short tuft of a tail and a spiky mane. Its eyes were a melting shade of deep blue that had lost its frightened quality and now seemed rather dreamy. I looked up at Nalfein for an explanation.

The mage seemed rather stunned, but whatever calming spell he did had worked. "That's a horse," he said, "It's a surfacer creature. I think the approximate term for the young is a 'foal'." 

"What kind of clue is _this_ thing?" I muttered, stroking the foal's neck. It turned its head and I nearly flinched away before I realized it wasn't about to bite. A small, rough tongue rasped over my knuckles.

"There's a scroll-box in the crate – a bit scratched…" Nalfein drew out a metal cylinder from the crate, unadorned and seemingly common, and unscrewed the top, carefully removing a scroll. He uncurled the paper and read it carefully, then tossed it to me.

I shifted the foal into my lap, and winced as it pressed one sharp hoof into the back of my leg, then looked at the scroll.

'To Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir,

The revenant-charger is a gift of appreciation, from the depths of the Planes. It is needless to describe its inherent properties as a trained steed when you have all of Investigations' resources at your disposal. Suffice to say that for mortals to retrieve such a foal it would prove unfeasible and most strenuous. If all the demonstrations of the power you have observed for this time and for the events of a few years ago in Braeryn have not made an impression, or if this gift is not sufficient to persuade you to cease your investigation, you are invited to meet me in the Compass Lake of the Dark Dominion, this day on the eighth blue of Narbondel. Don't be late – this game has begun to bore me.'

The writing was precise and tightly controlled and even, as though the letters had been printed. There was a crude symbol of a snake in the place of the signature, and I had a feeling that it was probably the same symbol as the tattoo on Jarlaxle. 

The bribe was probably a halfhearted attempt to get me to stop – I was quite certain that the mastermind would know that, even had I the choice to stop, I would go on. Curiosity forbade that I simply gave up before I could see this through to the very end. It was probably just a veiled hint to me that whoever this was, he or she knew me quite well – even to the extent that they knew of my vague desire for a mount. It was a disquieting notion.

I turned the scroll over. The paper was uncooperative – no watermarks, no distinct hue or cut that would betray its origins.

"Would you know who wrote that?" Nalfein asked.

"I'm not clairvoyant, Nalfein," I said, studying the lettering. "But it's like none of the handwriting samples I've seen. Too neat – too perfect."

"So are you going? The eighth shade is three shades to go. We'd have to hurry."

"Somehow I'm not looking forward to it," I told him dryly. "Whoever this is has a lot of magical power – or a large number of associates." I patted the foal, and it attempted to eat the scroll. "I'd better inform the Matron."

There was one small consolation – the writing was definitely not Jarlaxle's, of which I had seen samples of before, and the mercenary leader always made a point of writing his own correspondence. I really didn't want to face down the mercenary leader.

**

We shuttled back to the House, the heavy foal in my arms, and I handed it over to some agents for a checking, in the eventuality that it had something planted in it. Went for a quick detour to the files to check what sort of magic it was, I found that it was _gnomic illusion_, for Lloth's sake! Whoever was behind this probably had a very perverted sense of humor. Ilith'vir looked none-too-pleased to see us back so soon, but she dropped the can't-you-see-you're-not-worth-my-time attitude when we presented her with the scroll.

"A strange bribe, if it was intended to be one," she muttered. "Did you send it for checking?"

I nodded. "Results are expected in two shades. Agents have been instructed to do whatever is necessary if they find problems."

"Why you?" she asked abruptly, stating the exact question that I wanted the answer to. "And why all this?" she used the scroll to indicate the paperwork pertaining to the current investigation.

I shrugged. Personally, I had no idea, unless the mastermind had focused on the fact that I was supposedly heading this investigation. "Do I go, then?"

Matron Ilith'vir pursed her full lips, and her eyes became slightly unfocused. I knew better than to interrupt, and lowered my eyes, ostensibly in respect, but actually to try and read the paperwork on her desk backwards. It was something to do – not to mention that I believed that Ilith'vir had just understood something about all this, and was choosing not to tell us. 

That was frustrating, to say the least. What had I missed this time?

I took the time to examine facts that could align the present events with those several years ago, and realized belatedly that this day was the anniversary of those unpleasant affairs in Braeryn. Ah, damn… was there anything else that Ilith'vir could have seen that would be of consequence?

However, before I could try and delve further into this line of questioning, and try to find possible subjects – Dyrr, perhaps? Now that was one I truly wished had not written the note – Ilith'vir was speaking again, and I guiltily tried to pay attention.

Even if I suspected her of concealing observations from me – though that was common-enough practice – and of course, she was not obligated to tell me everything.

"There is too little time to gather reinforcements. In the light of the situation, I have no choice but to go. You will follow me – and Nalfein as well." Nalfein nodded his acquiescence. "As to soldiers…"

"I doubt they would be much use," I suggested, "Better than we leave the agents in Investigations – to initiate the failsafe. If this thing is truly magic-related, we could always try and get Caomh from Bregan D'aerthe to come along. He's still alive, I believe."

"Normally found hiding in Manyfolk or in the Clawrift," Matron Ilith'vir sighed. "Why him?"

"Because he has those swords," I said, "He might be able to summon the anti-magic sphere – there have been rumors of such occurrences."

"And you think he'd go along?"

**

"Sure," Caomh said, shrugging. Nalfein had scried out his position in one of the drinking pits of Manyfolk. "It's a way to get back at the stupid thing that nearly killed me the last time."

"It could kill you for sure this time," I warned him.

Caomh winked at me through his one eye and patted the hilt of one of the black swords with his one hand. "No one lives forever, Ti'erlfein." From the set look of his expression – I guessed at the last part of his words – he didn't _want_ to live much longer either. The old elf had a death wish that had been somewhat evident since I'd first met him in Melee-Magthere. 

The long-suffering Nalfein took us back to the House, where we retrieved Matron Ilith'vir, clad in a leather robe with thin, tiny plates of some adamantite alloy attached over each other such that it resembled the scales of a fish over her priestess robes. It was rather flexible and oddly light. She was also equipped with a pouch of scrolls, an enchanted flail and a piwafwi, then her Boots of Shadows – something that allowed her to occasionally step into some adjoining Plane that caused her to disappear and yet be able to observe this plane's events – and step back when she wished to. The snake whip she held in her hand hissed in excitement, sensing the possible battle ahead.

Nalfein was given a few wands from our storage – then the four of us, plus Halsshar, called out from a nap in wherever he went in the figurine, went to keep my appointment.

**

We arrived a little too early, and I felt that it was a bit of an anticlimax when I looked around the empty cavern housing the underground Compass Lake. The lake was so called because of its peculiar four-pointed shape, which was once rumored to fit the directions of a compass, but was in later years proven to be inaccurate. The lake was popular during certain seasons for fishing, as it was one of those places as yet not infested with weird Underdark monsters in the water. Underfoot we crushed fungus and mushrooms, and the dry fragrance clung to our clothes.

Sounds of chattering and trills above us alerted us to the presence of small birds that made their nests high up on the cavern walls and swooped about in graceful flight. Their droppings seemed to be part of the reason why parts of the walls and the entire ground were liberally coated with plant life.

"Your snake isn't here," Caomh seemed a little disappointed. 

"That is obvious," Ilith'vir said, stroking the heads of the snakes on her whip. Caomh closed his mouth, lips forming a thin line. He didn't like priestesses, but he knew better than to proclaim his animosity in front of a High priestess. 

There was not much to do but wait. Ilith'vir found a relatively flat and mushroom-free piece of rock to sit on, where she talked to Halsshar about the Abyssal Plane, while the rest of us spoke idly on differing subjects – weaponry, our different lifestyles, food and such. It wasn't unpleasant, but the dialogue was strained, as we anticipated the arrival of whatever it was. Time, as always in these circumstances, seemed to pass at a crawl.

Then Ilith'vir slid off her rock gracefully, and turned her head to regard something near the lake. "You called us here, I believe?"

The rest of us quickly looked to the lake. There was a smaller-scale version of a cobra there, curled up, the head and fan towering over our heads. The thick, tapering end of the tail, about an arm's width, flicked lazily, like the red ribbon of a forked tongue.

When the creature spoke, I half-expected a hissing sibilance, but to my surprise, the spoken drow was perfect, though rumbling and resounding. "I called Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir – but I expected this outcome."

"Lord Merrshaulk," Ilith'vir said, addressing the creature with stiff formality. "I would have thought you would."

Nalfein gasped beside me. "_Merrshaulk_?" he murmured, blinking. "A god?"

_What?_ I signaled with my fingers. Caomh seemed just as bewildered.

"God of the Yuan-ti folk," Halsshar murmured, having moved to sit on his haunches in front of us. "I've always wondered if the snake-whips of your Goddess were from an agreement with her and Merrshaulk."

"Why did you call him?" Ilith'vir was asking.

"He has had a factor in the continued imprisonment of some of my power in this avatar on this plane," Merrshaulk targeted his amber reptilian eyes at me, hypnotic in their intensity. I felt like prey, helpless in the visage of the hunter – it was not a very pleasant experience. Part of me was desperate to flee, but to my consternation, a larger part was more interested to see what would happen.

"How could that be, Lord?" Ilith'vir asked politely. Her voice was steady and unafraid. 

"The blood-ritual was to set me free," Merrshaulk swayed from side to side, in a sinuous dance, "But he escaped and broke the ritual. I have been forced to seek an unknowing host ever since. But vengeance is something that loses its novelty after a while, and I tire of the game." 

Strange – maybe my senses had been truly addled, or Merrshaulk did not seem at all angry, nor did he display any emotion other than clipped detachment and an odd curiosity as he looked at Ilith'vir, like a mage observing a new species of bug. 

"The drugs?" Ilith'vir asked.

"Part of some small revenge on your Goddess," Merrshaulk's voice seemed to take on some modicum of satisfaction. "For allowing her minions to keep me here. The rest has been an amusing game for a while – but as I have said, now it ceases to amuse. Your city is already rife with such drugs and suchlike self-destructive debauchery – I have come to recognize that it would not require any interference from me for it to collapse on itself centuries hence into chaos that would be far beyond the liking of even your Queen."

"Lord Merrshaulk…"

"I was to have called Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir here to end this," Merrshaulk interrupted. "He has an artifact on him that can be imbued with the presence of your Spider Queen for the purpose that I seek – my freedom."

"I do?" I said blankly. Ilith'vir glared at me, and I subsided.

"Your dagger," Merrshaulk's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "Hand it to your sister and we can begin. She would have a better chance of summoning your _Quarval-sharess'_ presence. I had thought of coercing you into doing it, as the Queen might decide to kill you for daring to try and call her – but such things do not serve my purpose very well. Hand it to your sister."

Ilith'vir looked suspicious, and rightfully so. "And the drug deliveries would cease?"

Merrshaulk laughed, a harsh sound like a thousand death rattles. "Without me to create them, deliver them, of course. What else would you have me do, mortal? Appear to your Council and give a statement?"

Matron Ilith'vir permitted herself a smile. I recognized that cold expression which meant that she was fast beginning to get angry. "I am not at liberty to speak on behalf of the Council, Lord Merrshaulk. Nor am I at liberty to presume to summon the Queen herself – especially on behest of another God."

"I could kill you with a thought," Merrshaulk said conversationally, but without the edged tone that usually accompanied a threat. Nevertheless, I noted that my companions had gotten a better grip on their weapons – and I had drawn my dagger, a rather useless gesture, considering the power that Merrshaulk probably represented.

"I am aware of that," Ilith'vir replied politely. "But it would be a while before you can reach a proper date again, would it, snake King?"

Merrshaulk hissed. "Call your Goddess! I _would_ be free… even if I have to puppet you all to do it!" 

Even for the threats, he didn't seem to be actually _doing_ anything to us – could a God be indecisive, or uncertain? Apparently so – though it seemed as though there could have been something influencing him. Ilith'vir? I shook off this implication as quickly as it had formed, for what could influence a God?

"I will _ask_." Ilith'vir corrected. Without turning her eyes from Merrshaulk, she gestured to me. "Ti'erlfein. Your dagger."

I handed it to her, hilt-first, then quickly backed away.

"Where did you get that from?" Nalfein murmured. "Normally artifacts such as that are not given to males."

"Would you believe me if I told you I found it on my bed in the House after I graduated from Melee-Magthere?"

"Not particularly."

"Then I'd make up a story for you later," I replied absently, watching as Ilith'vir began chanting long threads of (to me) meaningless syllables, almost singing, the strange rhythm rather unnerving. The hair on the nape of my neck attempted to stand at attention – and Caomh muttered something uneasily.

The dagger began to glow with a steady purple light that brightened until our eyes had to make the change from infrared vision to normal vision, and then a stunningly beautiful drow female stood next to Matron Ilith'vir.

She was flawlessly shaped, and was draped with silver chains and pearls in geometric patterns resembling that of a large, intricate spider web, with a pulsing, small purple jewel at each juncture where a chain or a thread of pearls met. At the centre of the web, beneath her perfect breasts, was a large spider, about the size of one's palm, that seemed to have been carved of several metals and gems and fitted together into a lifelike masterpiece, every hair on the legs lovingly depicted, each eye a flashing diamond. Then the spider shifted, one leg curling in a little – and we realized that it was animated. The web-dress completely failed to conceal her – assets (let's just put it this way), and all three of us were soon staring; though we somehow had the presence of mind to fall to our knees.

Thankfully, Lloth ignored us males, and took the dagger from Ilith'vir. The Matron had also fallen to her knees in awe at the sight as she intoned a formal greeting. "_Mzilst_ _orthae, ultrine Quarval-sharess, yorn wanre bel'lae dos whol elamshinaein nindol zik'den'vever_."

Lloth nodded, the liquid grace of her movements heart-stopping in their beauty – her voice pure music. "You have done well." Then she looked to Merrshaulk, and raised the dagger. "Merrshaulk. You have intruded in my city."

Merrshaulk inclined his head. "Many years ago one of your servants bound this incarnation of my power to his bloodline. It was not of my doing."

"The foolishness was all yours," Lloth said coldly, and Merrshaulk hissed; though he was obviously unwilling to attack Lloth on her home ground and in his diminished state. 

"Release me from my incarnation and we will part ways," Merrshaulk said.

"I do not do favors."

"I have served that bloodline for well over a century!" Merrshaulk's voice thundered. "I am aweary of your city, and you might do well to release me, or it would be war between the snake-kin and your drow. Even the whips of your priestesses will turn against you all!"

"You are in no position to threaten me," Lloth replied, still cold. "My followers outnumber your preferred minions – the snake people - and are well versed in the gifting of death. You should consider well if you wish to start such a war, for my followers will not stop until every single one of your yuan-ti are rotting corpses only fit to feed the worms. What would you be then, Godling?"

"Release me, Goddess," Merrshaulk subsided a little. "And let that be the end of it. You are the only one who may call the drow taint from this incarnation. Is that too much to ask?"

"I do not do favors," Lloth repeated. "What have you to give me in return?"

"Years ago I allowed your priestesses to have the snake-whips…"

"That was years past, and _you_ gained from it as well," Lloth cut in. "I repeat again. What have you to give me?"

I risked a look at my companions. All of them were staring at the divine confrontation with unabashed curiosity – and some fear. If there was some skirmish, we might just be caught in the backlash… 

"I… what do you want?" Merrshaulk conceded, rather ungraciously. Lloth's lips curled up into a smile of satisfaction. For a long while they seemed to be communicating silently – or else had blocked our ears, because their apparent reticence served to make us uncomfortable. I began to be distinctly aware of the sharp gravel under my trousers, and attempted to shift position. Caomh seemed to be having the same problems – only Nalfein, with his layered robes, seemed perfectly comfortable, and utterly fascinated. Mages are so weird.

Finally, Merrshaulk reared back his head. "Done, Queen."

"And done!" Lloth smiled again, and I understood how so many millions would have willingly died for that smile to be on them. Merrshaulk's incarnation seemed to curl up on himself – and then he slumped to the ground, the eyes blank and lifeless – whatever had been animating the grotesque body having departed.

Lloth glanced at me suddenly, and I sucked in a sharp intake of breath at the shock. Her purple eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, as if in amusement, then her grip on the dagger tightened, crushing, and the metal crumpled until it seemed to turn into pure energy that she absorbed into her palm. "My gift to you has served its purpose, Empath," she said, and I was suddenly filled with the overwhelming urge to grovel at her feet, to obey her every whim. Empath? What was an empath? It was a very disturbing sensation… and I fought the impulse to breathe a sigh of relief when she turned her attention away – to Halsshar.

"Are you returning to the Terminus?"

Terminus? 

I hate it when people have conversations over my head… 

Halsshar snorted. "I might as well. This Plane is beginning to bore me. Mind if I hike a trip back from you?"

Lloth shrugged, and Halsshar turned its intense eyes on me. "The figurine, if you please."

I proffered it to the hound with a hand that trembled a little. It took it in its mouth solemnly, then seemed to swallow. "That's the end of it. It has been _interesting_ meeting your kin."

"And you," I replied, with a small grin. Halsshar snorted, and padded over to Lloth.

"The city Council has been informed of your success," Lloth spoke to the Matron. "I shall be watching House Ilith'vir in the years to come. Sometimes the uncovering of truths is the pathway to a greater anarchy than lies can ever hope to achieve."

With that last, rather cryptic statement, Lloth and Halsshar vanished. 

--

Translations and References:

__

Quarval-sharess: Goddess, specific to refer to Lloth.

__

Mzilst _orthae, Ultrine Quarval-sharess, yorn wanre bel'lae dos whol elamshinaein nindol zik'den'vever_: Most Holy, Supreme Goddess, your servant thanks you for gracing this plane. 


	9. Postscript

Postscript

[ Some short snippets as gathered from further journals over the years, some from Bregan D'aerthe – it seems that there has been further security leaks over the years on both sides – and some from House Ilith'vir. Ti'erlfein has been unavailable for comment. ]

Named the revenant-charger Suliss – fits the pretty thing. If I can stop it from trying to eat anything that it thinks is remotely edible within its reach, it might just make a good steed. Innate ability to teleport useful – and its teleport doesn't make me feel like throwing up after. Damn thing ate a monograph on identifying weapon-inflicted wounds that I had been reading – snatched it from my hands. Hope it chokes to death.

**

I am about to become an uncle. Matron Ilith'vir has finally gotten pregnant, and her mood swings have worsened in their extremity. Am considering going into hiding. Maybe Bregan D'aerthe, except that I think Jarlaxle will kick me out.

Why do pregnant females get all sorts of weird cravings? I swear if I have to help scour the city for dragon's meat or 'chocolate' (some weird Surfacer concoction) one more time… 

**

The baby has been born, an ugly, squalling, healthy female. Matron Ilith'vir has named the thing U'lissae, after some obscure dead High Priestess who lived centuries ago. I have no idea why, and I don't really want to find out. 

The birth of U'lissae has been a source of great celebration in the House, and Matron Ilith'vir is in an uncommon good humor. Now is probably a good time to present to her the expense-list from the Glass Chamber investigation.

**

U'lissae has, for some reason, taken it upon her to annoy me. Tiny kid trying to follow me everywhere and tinker with all my things. Have appealed to Ilith'vir but expected – and received – just a snort and a reminder that on the 'Great Social Ladder' U'lissae is on a rung that's 'much higher' than mine is, so 'go away'.

Introduced U'lissae to Suliss, which seems to be enchanted with her. At least when they're playing together I can get on with my reading (or supposed reading. Did you know that reading large pieces of paper is the best way to pretend you're doing something else behind it?)

**

Found out how to play _sol'verna_. Nalfein is very patient. Realized belatedly _why_ he deigned to teach me slowly the game later, when I actually played my first game with him, Caomh and would you believe it, Zaknafein. Fellow has a taste for risk, but seems to play rather well.

Nalfein won.

Note to self – never; _ever_ gamble with a mind reader. 

**

Vierna has entered the Academy. As I predicted, reports showed over the years she distanced herself from her _ilharn_ like any normal would-be priestess. Apparently the night before the send-off they had a rather spectacular histrionic personal confrontation. Zaknafein reportedly even more upset than he was when Malice unnamed his rank. Have a feeling that 'I told you so' would just earn me a decapitation. Caomh, during one of our regular social drinking-sessions, says that he hopes the weapon master has (finally) learnt his lesson. 

I doubt it. Some creatures are just born stubborn.

Speaking of stubborn, U'lissae insists on accompanying me on Investigations, even the dangerous ones. Appeals to her mother didn't work. _Elg'caress._

**

Matron Ilith'vir is pregnant _again_, plunging the House into chaos like the previous time. This time U'lissae seems to take a perverse pleasure in dragging me to meet Ilith'vir, all her 'Don't you think the Matron would wish to hear this report in person?' and her 'Why don't you gift her with these solv'berries yourself?', just to watch the fireworks. Gah.

I am surrounded by the perverse. Did I mention U'lissae gets on perfectly well with the priestess-hating Caomh? They adore each other, even after so many years since they first met. I am reminded of child-Vierna with Zaknafein, except that here U'lissae has just a decade or so more to her entering the Academy as a priestess, and by rights should be unbearable by now, if she were anything like her mother at this age.

Some people just don't seem to understand their own advice. U'lissae is set to enter the Academy, history seems about to repeat itself. Even overt hints about Zaknafein's condition to Caomh when U'lissae is not around haven't sunk in. I have given up.

Ilith'vir doesn't seem to object to this relationship, especially since Caomh had taken it upon himself when U'lissae reached a suitable age to train her in weaponry in House Ilith'vir. He's better than our weapon master is anyway. The Matron's only objection is that U'lissae seems to like using the double-blade sword, a nasty pole with two blades at both ends, instead of learning how to use the mace, flail or whip – though knowing Caomh, he's probably trained her in that as well.

**

U'lissae just beat me soundly in a fair match. Caomh was laughing his ass off, the idiot. Now I have to treat them both to lunch. Haven't felt this sore for a while.

**

Pooled money with Caomh and got a dwarven smith to forge a double-blade adamantite sword with a special alloy metal shaft with a lot of pretty frills – jewels and such for U'lissae's birthday, which was several cycles after that humiliating fight. Then we got Nalfein to enchant it – the usual always-sharp dweomers, never-rust and so on. Nalfein surprised us by adding a powerful dweomer of his own as a gift – apparently the wielder of the thing gets a spell-turning effect as long as he or she is holding on to it. Pretty thing. U'lissae's happy at least.

**

The new child is born, yet another female. Lloth save me.

Matron Ilith'vir named her Ylin'e. Again, after some dead priestess. U'lissae tells me I have no soul. Now, what was that about?

Another weird thing that happened – Ilith'vir was muttering something about 'this one is not an Empath either' when I was looking in on her with the kid. Why won't anyone tell me what an Empath is?

**

Wrapped up a six-year-long investigation to my – and Ilith'vir's – satisfaction. I hate the long ones. At least I have quite a while of leave to go and convalesce to my heart's content. Am going to ride Suliss in the Dark Dominion.

Ylin'e, now an annoying, chattering seven-year-old kid, insisted on coming along. Pleas to Ilith'vir and U'lissae failed. So much for a peaceful convalescence. I hate my life.

Ran into Caomh in Manyfolk and went for a drink in Symeera. 

Caomh is quite enchanted with Ylin'e as well. What is this with him and Ilith'vir daughters? 

**

U'lissae left for the Academy with a great show of dignity to make her _Ilharess_ proud. She did the teary good-byes in private in my office the day before anyway, with Caomh and I – and strangely enough, Nalfein as well. 

Even more strangely, I have the sudden inkling of an idea that I'm going to miss her presence. 

I need a drink.

**

Ylin'e wants to be a thief. Ilith'vir was beside herself with rage when she heard this, so Ylin'e now knows better to confide with the Matron on potentially controversial issues. Instead, she tells Yours Truly first, not that I really want to know about said issues such as what age is it appropriate for her to engage in romantic liaisons with the other sex. Am trying (note trying) to keep her out of trouble, not that anyone appreciates it.

Caomh is training her in weapons – she likes using a strange combination of a stiletto and a scimitar. More ideas for birthdays.

**

Gifted Ylin'e with a stiletto and a scimitar, combined gift with Caomh on the birthday after Caomh proclaimed she had completed her training. Again, Nalfein did the dweomers. If I understand it, the stiletto, on wielder's will, can secrete poison in a wound that would cause the victim to die in seconds. The scimitar does some magic resistance stint.

First thing Ylin'e does with her weapons is to try and repeat the stunt her sister pulled on me. Since it was her birthday, I let her win.

Really.

**

Ah, _great_. Caomh took it in him to introduce Ylin'e to a thief, hoping to purge the thing out of her system. It hasn't worked – she's fascinated with it. Said thief is one male called Tern'yfein, Bregan D'aerthe. Rather good – especially in pickpocketing. When I get back I'd better go through my possessions again.

I hope Ilith'vir doesn't find out about why my 'social calls' with Caomh in Symeera have increased in frequency and why Ylin'e likes to come along, dressed as a commoner.

**

Ilith'vir found out. Better keep out of her way until she cools off. Long, _long_ rides in the Dark Dominion.

**

Took a week for her to stop feeling murderous, but now she's rather mollified, especially when I made up a lot of _iblith_ about how learning thievery increases dexterity, flexibility, increases the number of contacts and friends available, and enhances one's perception on the outside world. Not to mention the skills in sneaking around and all that… 

**

Ylin'e entered Arach-Tinilith. Again with the teary good-byes. With both sisters gone, the House seems unbearably empty.

**

Lloth appeared in the House for the Festival of the Founding in the shape of an aranea in spider form, which later revealed itself as the Spider Queen. Our guest was House Chueth'duis, also non-noble. I was shocked. Matron Ilith'vir was shocked – and gratified, of course. The daughters are shocked. Matron Chueth was shocked. The city was shocked. Even Caomh was shocked when I told him of it sometime later, though he expressed this by spitting on the ground.

There has been talk on making Ilith'vir a noble house. Matron Ilith'vir has declined. We'd be less likely to get business if we were a noble – and powerful – house. 

The Queen's appearance just meant more business from dark elves and less business from non-dark elves, at least for the moment. 

**

U'lissae graduated in the Ceremony of Graduation, not top-in-class by any means, but near enough. Caomh and I have gone for a celebration and invited Nalfein, but the mage was caught up in House matters and apologized.

Managed to catch up with U'lissae in the House later before she was to go on patrol, and gave her stuff Caomh and I bought – her favorite food (what is it with females and chocolate?), a new, embroidered back-sheath for her weapon and such. Strangely enough, U'lissae hasn't been too molded by the Academy – other than being a little more arrogant and sure of herself – not to mention she loves rubbing in the fact that if she ever failed to beat me in weaponry, she could always use spells - she seems much the same as before. 

I love that girl.

**

U'lissae is back from her stint on patrol. Managed to pull out time from my schedule to meet her in the House – have ten ongoing cases at the moment, four of which are rather explosive. She's a bit more scarred now, especially on the back and arms, but the one she really fusses about is the small white one above her right eyebrow. I have no idea why – maybe because it's the only facial scar. She thinks it makes her look less beautiful, despite all my – and Ylin'e's - assurances to the contrary. 

It took Caomh to convince her that the scar actually makes her look more beautiful. I _really_ don't know what's with him and Ilith'vir daughters.

**

Ylin'e graduated today – also not top, but one rank higher than her sister. Ilith'vir accused me of using this occasion to get drunk. This time Nalfein was free. Caomh, Nalfein, Ylin'e, U'lissae, Tern'yfein and I all met in Symeera to celebrate, with Ylin'e and U'lissae disguising themselves as males. It was incredibly funny, especially when we all got drunk. Have you ever seen a drunken mage?

Bad hangover the next day. Ilith'vir decided that it was all my fault, too.

Ylin'e hasn't been much affected by the Academy either (by reports, apparently only a proportion of priestesses are truly turned into gibbering fanatics by Arach-Tinilith. It's just propaganda), and if anything, for some reason her thievery skills improved, something which she is intensely proud of. She is extremely excited of the prospect of going on patrol.

I love these two.

**

Nalfein died in a House raid. Caomh, Ylin'e, U'lissae and I hid out in one of the Ilith'vir observation posts watching the Do'Urden animated dead file back to their House, and we silently toasted the mage with a bottle of good champagne. It'd be the way he'd like to have been remembered. 

Lloth, I hope I'm not turning sentimental.

**

Ylin'e and U'lissae have, with Ilith'vir's approval, taken quite a bit of my caseload off my hands, and shouldered some of their own. I am _not_ growing old, and I told them so, but they seem to have perfected the Matron's ability to tune me out of their immediate universes whenever they think I'm saying something unimportant.

**

Three of us are working on a big case involving fraud on a large scale and several noble houses. One part involved a high-speed chase down several alleys where both females managed to run faster than I did and catch the victim. Fine, maybe I'm _aging_. But Caomh can still beat them in a fair fight, anytime…

**

U'lissae has gotten deeply involved (I can't put this in any other delicate terms) with House Urundlet's dashing weapon master, one Cervaerl, also secondboy of House Urundlet. She even took him down to one of our Symeera 'social' meetings, and the male definitely seems devoted to her.

Caomh and I have a _really_ bad feeling about this.

**

Bad feeling has been confirmed. Ilith'vir had been observing the relationship with marked disapproval and has delivered U'lissae an ultimatum to terminate it. 

Granted, it had been interfering with U'lissae's studies to be a High Priestess and it could pose a major security breach of high levels, but really, give her a chance. 

Eventually before U'lissae could continue talking back to the Matron and making Ilith'vir _really_ furious, I decided to intervene and managed to get Ilith'vir to scold me instead of U'lissae. 

At least Ilith'vir wouldn't kill me.

I think.

U'lissae quite heartbroken, but determined to disobey orders when I discussed this with her in private later. I told her to her face what I thought of _that_, and it somehow turned into a verbal fight. Now we're not speaking to each other either. 

This hurt even more than I'd thought it would. Ylin'e's relationship with her sister has also suffered.

**

There has been a security breach. Some files on certain other Houses have been missing, or copies have been put in their place. Ilith'vir is furious again, and I don't blame her. Now we have to go through all the files to see what else is missing, and not to mention we'd have to go through the long and tedious process of purging the House of the breach. Life has gotten a lot more difficult, and I'm not talking about the breach itself.

I have a suspicion – sometimes I've seen U'lissae enter the vaults of the files even when I know she doesn't have any assignment that requires such prolonged perusal. However, may Lloth damn me, I cannot bring myself to say anything. 

**

House Urundlet has made a sudden and extremely successful attack on House Taek'tharm, a very precise maneuver that required in-depth knowledge on Taek'tharm's defenses and structure. I don't particularly like Taek'tharm, especially since the name has some bad memories attached to it, but House Taek'tharm's files was one of those missing.

Ilith'vir's one step ahead of me – U'lissae had to go into her office and talk to her Matron.

U'lissae emerged from the probably interrogation rather pale – the equivalent in the infrared is more obvious than the normal-vision one on dark elves. Just shut herself in her room and refuses entry to anyone. This is getting absurd.

**

U'lissae is still not coming out. At least she's eating and drinking, if the servants are correct.

**

I'm getting tired of this.

**

Ylin'e and I managed to gain entry into U'lissae's room, where we talked to a numb-looking U'lissae for several hours. I've never talked for so long in my life. I think she's better now – she's certainly learned her lesson about romance. So long as you keep it just to the sex – or better, use it as a tool like the Matron. That's the only way there is, in this society.

Now, I think I'd go kill that bastard Cervaerl.

It seems quite ironic in this society that a male as actually managed to make use of a female, though.

Caomh and I have decided to cut the _iblith_'s throat. Ylin'e wants to do it herself, and is attempting to pull rank, something that doesn't work on Caomh.

**

Not that it mattered – House Urundlet just got destroyed by House Teken'duis. I suspect Matron Ilith'vir slipped the tip to Teken'duis that Urundlet had a file on them. Thanks to Caomh and his influence in Bregan D'aerthe, some of the not-really-Teken'duis soldiers managed to retrieve the House files and the copies and return them to us before Teken'duis started looking.

We sort-of trust Caomh, but later Ylin'e and I are going to take another look in the Urundlet ruins just to make sure.

Ran across a familiar-looking body. Cervaerl is dead. A pity, since I'd even gone to the trouble of gambling with Ylin'e and Caomh about who would be the one to kill him, and winning the stake.

From the look of the wounds on Cervaerl's body, I think Caomh did it. Better not tell Ylin'e – she might decide to take out her frustration on the old elf, and get hurt doing it. One armed, one eyed, and old as he is, he can still beat her in combat.

U'lissae took the news well – she even treated Caomh, Ylin'e and I to drinks later at Symeera. I think she's recovering… though her attitude towards the opposite sex, with the exception of Caomh and myself, has noticeably deteriorated.

**

Zaknafein is dead. I had been expecting it for some time, what with all those problems with his son and him _still_ not having learnt his lesson, but Caomh took it very hard. Got very drunk in Symeera and U'lissae, Ylin'e and I had to get him back to the Clawrift by ourselves. It's a miracle we managed to, since the three of us weren't exactly sober ourselves.

It wasn't even like we knew Zaknafein all that well… 

**

Caomh is a shadow of his former self, despite our efforts to revive his spirits. Apparently even Jarlaxle is getting worried about this. To use even more cliched terms – it seems as though a part of him died with his favorite pupil, whom he loved as a son. Love's an _elg'caress_, isn't she?

**

Caomh died, just a month after Zaknafein. We'd been awaiting this for a while – he'd begun wasting away ever since Zaknafein died, and it wasn't a disease either – U'lissae and Ylin'e tried cure spells on him. Jarlaxle 'graciously' allowed us into the Clawrift to be there with Caomh for his last hours, though the mercenary leader kept away from the room. 

"I'm sorry," he had said to the sisters, his voice a whisper that we had to strain to catch. "So sorry I have to leave you two… "

For some reason, he had been speaking in Undercommon instead of in Drow, as if, at the last moment, he was making some effort to deny his heritage.

The sisters, for all their professed dislike of males, were sniffling away. "We'd see you again in the next life," U'lissae offered softly. Unfortunately, this made Ylin'e burst into a new flood of tears as she clung on to my surcoat. 

Caomh turned eyes that had become somewhat myopic over the centuries to mine. "There's only you left now."

"I'd take care of them," I assured him. 

He gestured weakly at his bedside table, where Zaknafein's black swords lay, like some solid curse, their first owner dead and their second, dying. "The swords… I have no one to leave them to but you, Ti'erlfein."

"Zaknafein wouldn't have appreciated that," I made an effort to smile, "But I thank you. See you again in the afterlife... friend."

Caomh chuckled, a gurgling sound, and closed his eyes. "…Love you all…"

His last few breaths were measured and steady. I counted them – twelve – before he gave a last choked sound and passed on. 

The three of us had sat in silence, holding his vigil.

Eventually Ylin'e put her hand in mine. "You'd stay with us?"

Many centuries ago I'd never have thought I'd do this to any females – but love, when all's said and done, in all its myriad forms, is a hammer of change that beats out its song of amelioration even in the heart of darkness. 

I reached over and hugged them both tightly. "You two can't get rid of me that easily."

**

U'lissae and Ylin'e have immersed themselves in their studies again. That, on top of the cases they're handling, is enough to keep them busy. We still meet at Symeera and drink, though Ilith'vir is debating on the issue of whether or not priestesses on the threshold of turning into High Priestesses should actually frequent such places. However, the assurance that there's a lot of gossip to be had in Symeera managed to keep the lid on that topic for a while.

For me, I don't need to drink in Symeera to remember. The two black swords hang at my hips, a constant memento.

**

Zaknafein came back – briefly – as Zin-carla, apparently to hunt down his son. It wasn't very successful, and he fell into an acid pit somewhere and died – again. After that, House Do'Urden was attacked, apparently by Baenre, and has been destroyed since. 

**

U'lissae is now High Priestess. Ylin'e and I had been expecting that for some time, so we'd gone trawling for gifts together a few cycles ago. Ended up we had to share our resources when we found something really unusual – a construct in the form of a very handsome male dark elf with large black draconic wings. I say _construct _here, even though I think it should be 'living thing' – it's breathing – but if you look into the eyes, there's nothing inside. Blank of thought, like golem's eyes.

We asked the dealer what in the Nine Hells was it-him – this was in one of the slaver buildings in Narbondellyn – and he said that he wasn't particularly sure what the creature was either. Apparently he had found the thing in one of his camps on their way to Menzoberranzan when everyone had woken up. The sentries hadn't seen the thing enter. The creature responded to commands like 'sleep' and 'eat', but other than that it could just be a piece of furniture, though it (I seem to have problems using 'he' on this creature) had a ring tightly clasped in its hand. 

The dealer had paid a mage a great deal of money to find out what the ring was. It was something that, when worn by another, would cause this thing to obey that other creature for the rest of its life and no other – even when the ring was taken off. The dealer was smart enough to see how this creature would be worth on the open market, especially if it turned out to be really half-dragon, but we had apparently beaten the rest to the auction (I bet he says this to everyone). 

I was having large problems coming to terms with the 'control' issue here, but Ylin'e proceeded to start bargaining. I didn't even want to think of what could have happened to it to reduce it to this state – or worse, what could have created it.

My reverie was broken rather rudely when Ylin'e named an incredible price that made me wince.

The dealer tried to hotfoot around this by talking about how he could wait for other prices, and how it was still early, but Ylin'e cut in sharply, pointing out that this was a substantial amount from any other bids that the dealer had named, and that she _could_ change her mind and go see what the other slavers had. When she added that this gift would be to a High Priestess, I could see the dealer visibly succumb.

Somehow, we managed to sneak the thing into the House and keep it concealed from U'lissae. I refused to stay alone with it at any time by myself. The empty eyes seemed almost accusing – and were most disconcerting.

Ylin'e, however, was convinced that it was the right thing for U'lissae. "Look," she had said, "You know U'lissae has been a bit. Inhibited with your gender ever since that Incident?"

"You don't have to make it sound like it was my fault," I told her, just knowing that this line of conversation wasn't going to lead anywhere good. "And I doubt all females would be like you and Matron Ilith'vir… a different one in the sack every night, eh?"

Ylin'e snorted, at that moment, resembling her mother so closely I nearly felt the urge to backtrack and apologize. "Hah, yes. But look at it this way – this male would be under her total control."

"I don't like it," I had said, "And what if something goes wrong?"

"Only the trusted dealers get to sell in Narbondellyn," Ylin'e pointed out. "And it's not for _you_."

That was the end of the matter as far as she was concerned.

**

High Priestess U'lissae appreciated her gift very much. I think I'd sleep in my office from now on. The walls between the rooms in the nobles' quarters aren't thick enough.

**

There has been a lot of trouble where the top Houses led an army up to the Surface, all for one purpose – to eliminate Zaknafein's son. Ilith'vir didn't join in – sometimes being a small, non-noble House has its benefits, because surprisingly the Houses were beaten off and returned in defeat, amongst its casualties, Matron Baenre. 

**

Jarlaxle has obtained a powerful artifact by the name of Crenshinibon, but has made no move against House Ilith'vir. Matron Ilith'vir hopes that he would now think of us as a threat so small as not to be worth crushing. 

Artifact or not, our files on Bregan D'aerthe, if widespread, could initiate his mercenary band's downfall, and Jarlaxle had best not try to start anything that is sure to end badly for him.

So far, he seems to be sitting on the power. Matron Ilith'vir is in a black mood.

**

A powerful female by the name of Lin'Fayaenre Ra'Kest, also known as Winter, has entered the city disguised as a male with a pet _nigouar_. Investigations has decided not to bother her – Lloth knows all sorts of strange creatures enter and leave Menzoberranzan. She promptly joined Bregan D'aerthe.

**

Ylin'e is to be High Priestess soon. This time, U'lissae and I went to look for gifts, accompanied by Ssinsuurul, her now constant companion. Though I still felt uncomfortable in that creature's presence, it had proved to be quite adept in fighting and also had an ability to cast arcane spells – very useful in some cases, since House Ilith'vir still didn't have a really good wizard as yet.

Its name was strangely appropriate. It could speak, but only when U'lissae spoke to it, but its voice was liquid music, its namesake, rich and pleasant to listen too – and it moved like a cat, all grace. But still, each time I looked at it my mind presented me with uncomfortable questions, such as '_What is life?_' and besides, I was still uncomfortable with the issue of absolute control. To me, there had to be a catch in it somewhere.

I took some comfort in the fact that Suliss didn't like it either. The revenant-steed had apparently reached its prime – and then stopped aging further. Sometimes I envied it, especially on days where my entire body lazily protested against getting up to greet the new cycle.

It seemed more difficult to find Ylin'e's gift. Did she want a pet? A Shadow Mastiff, perhaps? Or did she want enchanted trinkets, an amulet of spell warding? We must have spent the entire day wandering around shops until, out of desperation I suggested the same dealer from which Ylin'e and I had purchased Ssinsuurul. I had been guiding U'lissae around it, even to the extent that we had gone to reputed shops outside Narbondellyn.

We were debating about certain gifts when we entered the shop. The dealer recognized Ssinsuurul at once, and also what U'lissae's elaborate robes, as well as the snake whip at her hips, meant. 

Eventually he suggested a trained steed that he had acquired – apparently some cross between a phase spider and some higher breed of sword spider that apparently was quite rare, because only U'lissae understood what the dealer was talking about. I only knew that this was going to cost me. Expensive gifts are really painful on the pocket.

**

High Priestess Ylin'e is riding that spider everywhere, even indoors, for Lloth's sake. Not to mention that its ethereal jaunts are _extremely_ unnerving. Having giant spiders appear suddenly in front of one's face is not good for one's constitution, and Ylin'e took a positive delight in frightening me out of my skin.

**

House Baenre has captured Jarlaxle. This cannot be a good thing… Matron Ilith'vir hopes that House Baenre would kill the mercenary leader, but I doubt that would come to pass. Besides, I rather liked him.

**

The city has been struck by a surfacer season known as winter. Ilith'vir and I have suspicions that it has to do with Jarlaxle and Lin'Fayaenre. After all, she must have acquired her nickname somehow.

Menzoberranzan has completely shut down, as everyone's running for cover. From inside the House, which has been somehow warmed to a constant temperature by Ssinsuurul, I watched the white specks of snow fall.

**

By reports, something spectacular happened and Jarlaxle has been returned, barely alive, to Bregan D'aerthe. It has been confirmed that the snow had been of Winter's devising – apparently she has a twin of Crenshinibon known as Irr'liancrea. Reports of the situation are a bit garbled, and Ilith'vir has decided it has nothing to do with us.

**

I thought the sisters had enough years to be matured, but apparently not. They just played a tasteless prank involving the melting snow and my bed. 

It is not funny.

At all.

**

Apparently Jarlaxle has formed a mutual romantic attachment to Winter. Matron Ilith'vir isn't particularly happy about it, especially at the concept that Bregan D'aerthe could soon have two heading it instead of one, wherein both leaders wield great power – political and arcane. 

**

Ylin'e is pregnant. I was expecting this to happen, the way she carries on. She's just as bad as her mother was in this condition – imperial, the mood-swings, and the weird cravings. U'lissae is ecstatic and seems to be always with her sister, even when Ylin'e is in a dark mood. So it leaves Yours Truly to go and find out, with some agents, where all the weird foods are. Where the hell am I supposed to get 'peaches'? What the hell are 'peaches'?

**

Ylin'e's child is a boy. I could sense her – and U'lissae's – disappointment, but the sisters decided to be sentimental and make the best of it by naming the child Caomh. Ilith'vir didn't object too much – Caomh Senior's House had been destroyed a few years ago, and wasn't in a position to remember. 

Death, followed by birth, is the cycle eternal. A new die has been cast into this stygian society which birthed me and would be my death, but though this world is perilous and uncaring – I look at the small face of the child, and I know that at the very least, this world also has its own redemption.

--

Translations and References:

__

Suliss: Grace, generic term.

__

Ssinsuurul: Music.


	10. Afterword

Afterword

"Your habit of writing stories and then abandoning them halfway says a lot about your personality," Zaknafein said. He sat on The Author's desk, having first moved a lot of the junk onto the bed, to the Author's irritation.

"There's nothing wrong with my personality, thank you," the Author said, looking up sharply from the computer screen.

Zaknafein raised an eyebrow. "If you say so."

"While you, on the other hand, think you have a perfectly normal, non-psychotic personality?"

"I never made any such claims," Zaknafein said mildly. "And why do you have to turn on your… 'air-conditioning' so high? My chain-mail is getting cold."

"Please relay my deepest apologies to your armor," the Author said sarcastically. "Right. My mom just received a new batch of wine, so if you want to sample, you have to ask questions."

"Fine." Zaknafein sighed. "Why the postscript?"

"Well, I didn't write a prologue, so I thought that writing an epilogue wouldn't be very symmetrical," the Author said thoughtfully, "And this allowed me to change styles and write in a disjointed manner…"

"…As if that's not your normal style…"

"It's not! Anyway, the postscript was fun." 

"And long-winded."

"Well…"

"Not to mention unnecessary, since you're having this 'Afterword' business."

The Author glared at him. "How would you like to be sent back to your dimension without the wine-tasting? Or maybe as a purple kitten?"

"All right, all right," Zaknafein raised his callused palms in mock-surrender. "About your plot… no matter what you say, I still think you have a fascination with writing about Lloth."

"Yeah," The Author admitted, "Despite her faults, at least her society is female-dominant."

"You lost me around 'Despite'." 

"The dictionary's just there, Zaknafein," the Author gestured sweetly. "And anyway, apparently she's been killed."

"What?" Zaknafein blinked.

"Greyhawk series, apparently. Heard it in the mailing list, but didn't go and try to confirm." The Author explained, "Too lazy to go and read the books."

"Oh." Zaknafein seemed a little stunned. "Really?"

"Now you sound like a kid who can't believe he'd just gotten a key to a candy shop."

"Candy shop?" Zaknafein said absently, apparently still trying to wrap his mind around the concept that Lloth was dead, "What do I want with candies?"

"Nevermind," the Author said, turning her attention back to the screen. "This doesn't mean she'd be dead on all the dimensions and worlds."

"Why not?"

"Because I write some of them, and she's a good, if rather used, plot device."

Zaknafein rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Find others."

"She already _is_ a plot device in a certain story I'm writing," the Author paused. "I admit that before I heard the thing about Greyhawk I was sort of tempted to kill her off, but then now I don't want to. It's…"

"Perverse?" Zaknafein supplied. "Warped?"

"I'm going to throw something at you, if you don't stop with the insults!"

"The nearest, free object next to you that I can see is one fuzzy white teddy bear," Zaknafein drawled.

The Author glowered at him, and Zaknafein decided not to see if the reality-bending ability the Author seemed to have in her room extended to materializing lethal weapons. "Right. Another question. Why are you still fascinated with the Jarlaxle-Winter pairing?"

"Well, I'm still not happy with the direction that the Salvatore stories on Jarlaxle are going, so this is, in a way, my protest." The Author looked at her bookshelves. "I wonder what on earth possessed me to buy so many of his books. Could have used the money to buy more Terry Pratchett, or maybe collect some of Neil Gaiman's The Sandman series. I must have been out of my mind."

"Like you have one," Zaknafein couldn't resist muttering.

If looks could kill, the Author wouldn't even need a lethal weapon with this one. "Maybe if I stuff the teddy bear down your throat you'd asphyxiate."

Zaknafein smirked at her, but went on with the next question. "You have a really strange approach to the concept of love. Sometimes you seem to state it exists, sometimes you say it can't, sometimes you say that it's…"

"Well, since the universe is one of flux…" the Author scrambled for an answer, and Zaknafein could tell.

His smirk widened. "You mean you just can't grasp one idea for very long."

The Author reached for the teddy bear.


End file.
